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University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

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THE 


EXPERIENCE  OF  LIFE 


E.  M.  SEWELL, 


'AMY  HEBBBKT,"      "GERTRUDE,"      "  A  FIRST  HISTOBT  OF  QBBEOK,' 
"journal  of  a  BUMMER  TOUK,"  &0. 


'  Footprints,  tnat  perhaps  another 
Sailing  o'er  Life's  solemn  main, 
A  forlorn  and  shipwrecked  brother, 
Seeing,  shall  take  heart  again." — Lonqfkllow. 


NEW-YOEK: 
D.    APPLETON    &    COMPANY 

443    &    445  BROADWAY. 
I860. 


^■M 


n^- 


THE  EXPERIENCE  OE  LIFE. 


CHAPTBE  I. 

• 

I  AM  not  going  to  write  a  tale,  not  at  least  what  is  usually 
so  called.  A  tale  is,  for  the  most  part,  only  a  vignette,  a 
portion  of  the  great  picture  of  life,  having  no  definite 
limit,  yet  containing  one  prominent  object,  in  which  all 
the  interest  is  concentrated.  But  this  is  not  ar  real  re- 
presentation of  human  existence.  For  one  person  whose 
life  has  been  marked  by  some  very  striking  event,  there 
are  hundreds  who  pass  to  their  graves  with  nothing  to 
distinguish  the  different  periods  of  their  probation,  but 
the  changes  which  steal  upon  them  so  naturally  as  scarce- 
ly to  occasion  a  momentary  surprise.  They  hope  and  en- 
joy, they  are  disappointed  and  sad,  but  no  one  points  to 
the  history  of  their  lives  as  containing  warning  or  exam- 
ple. They  are  born  unthought-of  beyond  their  own  im- 
mediate circle,  and  die  lamented  only  by  a  few ;  and  we 
pass  over  their  names  in  the  obituary  of  the  day  with  the 
same  strange  indifference  with  which  we  hear  the  aggre- 
gate amount  of  deaths  in  a  battle  ;  forgetting  that  for 
each  individual  soul  in  the  vast  multitude  there  has  been 
a  special  day  of  trial,  a  special  providence  and  guidance ; 
and  there  will  be  a  special  day  of  reckoning  and  doom. 

These  thoughts  have  pressed  much  upon  me  of  late, 
when  looking  back  upon  my  own  life  through  a*'space  of 
sixty  years.     Not  that  I  have  any  wish  to  write  pecu- 
1 


X  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

Harly  about  myself :  my  own  history  is  to  be  found  in  the 
history  of  others  ;  for  I  am  nearly  the  youngest  of  a  large 
family.  It  is  of  them  I  would  speak,  tracing  their  course 
at  the  same  time  with  my  own,  and  that  less  with  the 
view  of  exciting  great  interest,  than  with  the  desire  of  de- 
scribing what  must  be  the  lot  of  hundreds  similarly  placed, 
and  marking  the  snares  into  which  we  have  fallen,  and 
the  blessings  by  which  we  have  been  supported. 

I  was  born  in  the  neighbourhood  of  a  country  town  ; 
and  in  the  same  neighbourhood  the  greater  part  of  my  life 
has  been  passed.  That  will  at  once  describe  to  many  the 
style  of  society,  the  habits,  occupations,  hopes,  and  enjoy- 
ments, which  have  from  childhood  surrounded  me.  My 
grandfather  was  a  banker, — one  of  a  family  who,  for 
nearly  a  century,  had  carried  on  the  same  business  in  the 
town  of  Carsdale  with  credit  and  honour.  Old  Mr.  Mor- 
timer (which  is  the  appellation  always  associated  with  my 
recollections  of  my  grandfather)  was  a  clear-headed,  ac- 
tive, speculating  man,  possessed  of  that  peculiar  kind  of 
family  pride  which  is  almost  inseparable  from  our  exclu- 
sive English  notions  of  respectability.  He  had  no  ambi- 
tion in  the  common  meaning  of  the  word  ;  no  wish  to  re- 
tire from  business,  and  become  an  idle  gentleman  living 
upon  his  own  property.  I  doubt  whether  the  offer  of  a 
baronetcy,  or  a  peerage,  would  have  raised  any  dormant 
longings  for  rank.  His  banking  house  was  his  estate,  his 
unstained  reputation,  and  his  monied  influence  were  his 
rank  ;  and  when,  as  was  often  the  case,  he  found  himself 
courted  by  persons  of  high  position  and  eminence,  their 
civilities  were  received  simply  as  the  just  tribute  of  re- 
spect which  had  for  years  been  paid  to  the  respectability 
of  the  Mortimers  of  Carsdale. 

With  these  feelings,  it  could  scarcely  have  added  much 
to  his  self-complacency,  when  his  youngest  son,  Herbert 
— my  father — soon  after  entering  the  army,  married  the 
daughter  of  Sir  Thomas  Yaughan,  a  Yorkshire  baronet 
of  ancient  descent,  but  small  possessions.  I  have  heard 
that  when  one  of  his  friends  congratulated  him  on  the  con- 
nection, my  grandfather  tapped  the  huge  ledger  which  al- 
ways wa'f  laid  by  his  side  in  his  banking  oflice  ;  and  coolly 
taking  a  pinch  of  snuff,  said :  "  Look   back  a  hundred 


TKJG   EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  3 

years  ;  the  Yauglians  have  lost,  the  Mortimers  have  won ; 
which  have  the  most  reason  to  be  proud?"  Yet  he  was 
pleased,  I  believe,  that  my  father  should  marry,  for  he 
was  his  favourite  son.  He  had  but  two  children,  and  my 
grandmother  had  died  soon  after  the  birth  of  Herbert : 
that  was  perhaps  one  cause  of  his  great  affection  for  him  ; 
another  might  have  been  the  peculiar  character  of  his 
elder  son,  Ralph — a  character,  which  though  it  resembled 
his  own  in  many  respects,  still  differed  from  it  so  much 
in  one  or  two  essential  particulars,  that  I  have  often  mar- 
velled how  it  could  have  been  possible  for  two  persons  of 
such  opposite  views  to  work  together  as  they  did  for  many 
years.  My  uncle  Ralph  has  borne  a  memorable  part  in 
many  incidents  of  our  family  history  ;  but  I  must  not 
speak  of  him  at  present. 

Persons  knowing  little  of  my  grandfather,  have  occa- 
sionally expressed  surprise  that  he  should  ever  have  al- 
lowed a  son  of  his  to  choose  the  army  for  his  profession : 
but  it  is  no  matter  of  wonder  to  me.  He  was  devoted  to 
Herbert, — entirely  bent  upon  gratifying  his  wishes,  and 
especially  proud  of  his  handsome  face.  The  mere  thought 
of  seeing  him  in  his  uniform  would  have  been  a  consider- 
able inducement  to  consent ;  but  there  was  another  and  a 
really  strong  motive.  A  brother  of  his  own  had  been  in 
the  army,  and  distinguished  himself  greatly.  He  was 
the  hero  of  the  small  portion  of  romance  which  was  latent 
in  my  grandfather's  disposition  ;  and  the  idea  that  his  son 
might  one  day  revive  the  name  of  Colonel  Mortimer,  was, 
I  believe,  sufficient  to  overcome  every  other  objection. 

My  father  was  ordered  to  a  foreign  land  shortly  after 
his  marriage.  I  have  often  heard  my  mother  describe 
the  effect  which  the  last  interview  between  him  and  my 
grandfather  had  upon  both  ;  the  strange  presentiment  of 
evil  which  hung  over  them,  and  the  warning  which  formed 
part  of  my  grandfather's  last  injunctions  : — "  Herbert, 
my  boy,  take  care  of  your  wife,  and  look  after  your  chil- 
dren, and,  whatever  happens,  don't  be  led  by  your  brother. 
Ralph." 

It  was  a  wise  caution  to  give.  My  father  was  a  per- 
son by  whom  it  was  peculiarly  needed.  At  this  distance 
of  time  I  can  look  back  apon  his  character,  as  it  stands 


4  THE    EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

clearly  forth  from  amidst  the  shadows  of  tlje  past,  and 
judge  him — always  I  hope  with  filial  respect,  yet  truly 
and  dispassionately.  His  faults  do  not  seem  now  to  be- 
long to  him.  He  has  entered  upon  another,  and  I  may 
humbly  trust,*a  better  and  happier  existence,  and  I  can 
bear  to  retrace  the  course  of  his  probation  here,  even  in 
its  errors,  since  I  know  that  its  end  was  peace.  He  was 
indolent ;  that  I  think  was  his  greatest  defect.  It  does 
not  seem  a  very  serious  one  at  first  sight ;  but  its  conse- 
quences, when  indulged,  must,  I  am  sure,  always  be  griev- 
ous. Yet  it  was  not  so  much  physical  indo'ence.  He 
could  endure  fatigue,  and  at  times  encounter  it  volunta- 
rily. No  one  ever  heard  him  complain  of  the  hardships 
of  a  soldier's  life,  or  even  say  that  he  disliked  them : — 
but  he  hated  thought,  worry,  effort  of  mind  in  any  form, 
except  it  might  be  some  dreamy,  imaginative  abstraction, 
which  with  one  degree  of  greater  energy  might  have  made 
him  poetical,  but  which,  as  it  was,  only  served  to  render 
his^society  soothing  and  softening,  and  therefore  to  many 
agreeable. 

It  was  not  agreeable  to  me  ;  but  in  mental  tempera- 
ment we  were  far  as  the  poles  asunder. 

I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  each  member  of  my  fam- 
ily separately.  It  would  be  an  endless  task  ;  knowing  them 
so  thoroughly,  and  having  studied  them  so  intimately,  I 
should  never  be  satisfied  with  mere  outlines ;  and  details 
are  better  discovered  by  facts  than  by  mere  narration.  I 
will  try  to  give  these  in  the  best  way  that  I  can  ;  partly 
from  early  recollections  of  my  own,  partly  from  letters  and 
journals,  which  recall  vividly  the  scenes  and  incidents  that 
might  otherwise  have  long  since  been  forgotten. 

And  I  will  begin  by  my  first  recollection  of  a  settled 
house.  Carsdale  is  a  straggling,  ill-built,  yet  clean  and 
rather  picturesque  country  town.  It  stands  upon  the  brow 
of  a  hill,  and  commands  an  extensive  view  of  a  woody  val- 
ley, watered  by  a  clear  stream,  which,  about  twenty  miles 
lower  down,  becomes  navigable  for  barges,  lighters,  and 
the  smaller-sized  trading  vessels.  There  are  but  twa 
really  respectable  streets  in  Carsdale, — High  Street,  of 
30urse, — there  is  a  High  Street  in  every  town  in  England 
— and  Castle  Street.     They  are  built  at  right  angles — 


THE   EXrERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  5 

Higli  Street  horizontally ;  Castle  Street  on  tlie  ascent  to 
the  ruins  of  the  old  Norman  tower  from  which  it  takes  its 
name. 

In  the  intermediate  spaces  between  these  two  principal 
thoroughfares  are  a  few  lesser  streets,  som«  broad  lanes, 
and  many  courts,  alleys,  and  passages,  not  worse,  but  I 
fear  not  much  better,  than  are  to  be  found  in  the  innu- 
merable towns  of  a  similar  size  and  description  which 
cover  the  face  of  our  country.  My  early  home  was  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Castle  Street,  on  the  road  leading  from 
the  town  to  the  castle,  and  from  thence  to  London.  It 
was  a  square,  white  house,  bright  with  green  Venetian 
blinds,  a  green  door,  and  a  close  green  verandah,  it  stood 
back  from  the  road  in  a  little  garden,  which  had  in  front 
three  oval  flower-beds,  and  a  gravel  walk  leadi^ng  from  the 
house  door  to  the  little  entrance  gate.  There  was  a  strip 
of  la?7n  also  at  the  side,  and  a  tiny  kitchen  garden  at  the 
back,  which,  however,  was  never  known  to  produce  any- 
thing but  blighted  currants  and  gooseberries,  late  aspara- 
gus, that  had  evidently  outgrown  its  strength,  and  cu- 
cumbers, which  from  some  unknown  caus.e  always  ran  to 
seed  before  they  were  pronounced  eatable.  There  was  a 
tolerable  view  from  our  house,  for  it  stood  high,  and  the 
town  was  about  half  a  mile  distant  to  the  left ;  but  it 
could  scarcely  be  called  in  the  country,  so  many  littl^  vil- 
las were  congregated  in  the  vicinity  ;  whilst  the  causeway, 
which  passed  in  front  of  the  garden,  was  the  regular 
promenade  for  all  th*  gay  trades-people  of  Carsdale  on  a 
Sunday,  and  the  habitual  safe  resort  of  nurses  and  chil- 
dren on  week  days.  A  little  exertion  would  have  screened 
us  from  the  public  view ;  but  that  was  not  an  object  of 
much  value  to  my  father.  He  liked  to  sit  at  the  drawing- 
room  window  after  church,  telling  us  who  was  going  by, 
and  perhaps  relating  some  youthful  adventure,  recalled 
by  the  sight  of  the  friends  of  his  childhood:  and  my  mo- 
ther humoured  him  in  every  fancy,  and  even  if  she  had 
wished  for  more  complete  privacy,  would  have  hesitated 
to  suggest  it.  She  .was  very  gentle,  yielding,  and  un- 
selfish. I  can  less  bear  to  think  and  talk  of  hei  than  of 
my  father :  I  loved  her  so  very  dearly,  and  her  image,  in 
its  grace  and  beauty,  comes  before  me  as  a  lovely  picture, 


bT' 


THE    EXPERIENCE   OF    LIFE. 


wliicli  I  would  fain  keep  in  all  its  original  perfection. 
Not,  I  suppose,  but  that  she  had  faults,  or,  at  least,  fail- 
ings. She  had  been  bred  up  in  an  atmosphere  of  pride 
and  ultra  refinement ;  and  although  she  was  too  kind  and 
good  to  allow  h^r  tastes  to  interfere  with  the  duties  of  her 
position,  she  certainly  was  not  calculated  to  guide  a  fam- 
ily through  the  toils  of  life.  She  was  not  a  popular  per- 
son. Reserve  of  manner  gave  her  often  an  appearance  of 
want  of  sympathy  ;  and  although  no  one  couid  justly  have 
accused  her  of  exclusivencss,  there  was  an  unconscious 
superiority  shown  in  her  intercourse  with  the  Carsdale 
society,  which  threw  many  persons  at  a  distance. 

It  is  strange  to  me  now  to  associate  her  with  that 
homely  little  white  house  on  the  Castle  road,  and  the  ac- 
quaintance and  friends  who  fill  my  early  recollections. 
She  could  scarcely  have  been  prepared  for  them  when  she 
first  married.  My  father  had  then  no  idea  of  settling  at 
Carsdale.  He  liked  his  profession,  and  intended  to  fol- 
low it ;  and  the  handsome  allowance  made  by  my  grand- 
father would  have  enabled  him  to  do  so  with  ease,  if  his 
family  had  been  small.  The  circumstances  which  in- 
duced him  to  change  his  plan,  and  the  consequences  re- 
sulting from  them  were  first  understood  by  me  when  I  was 
about  thirteen  years  of  age.  Some  events  and  some  con- 
versations stamp  themselves  indelibly  upon  the  memory. 
At  tae  very  moment  when  they  take  place  we  feel  they 
can  never  be  forgotten. 

We  were  living  in  the  white  house, — Castle  House  as 
it  was  called.  We  had  been  there  about  five  years.  Our 
family  consisted  of  seven  children, — two  boys  and  two 
girls  older  than  myself ;  one  boy  and  one  girl  younger. 
A  series  of  misadventures  had  befallen  me  from  my  in- 
fancy. I  had  fallen  out  of  the  nurse's  arms,  and  broken 
my  arm,  and  injured  my  back  so  that  I  was  never  able  to 
walk  far.  I  had  been  attacked  with  scarlet  fever,  and  re- 
duced to  such  a  state  of  weakness  that  my  life  was  de- 
spaired of.  Whooping  cough  had  followed  upon  the  mea- 
sles, and  left  a  delicacy  of  constitution  which  caused  my 
health  to  be  a  constant  subject  of  anxiety.  I  was  ojie  of 
that  numerous  race  who  are  set  apart  from  their  earliest 
childhood  for   patient   endurance.      Very   early   I   was 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  7. 

taught  to  understand  my  lot ;  very  early  also  I  learnt  to 
be  thankful  for  it.  But  it  made  me  thoughtful  beyond 
my  years,  and  at  the  age  of  thirteen  I  had  begun  to  rea- 
son upon  the  events  of  life,  and  to  read  the  character  and 
ponder  upon  the  words  and  actions  of  the  individuals 
with  whom  I  was  brought  in  contact. 

My  elder  brothers  and  sist^s  went  to  school,  Vaughan 
and  Reginald  to  a  grammar  school,  Caroline  and  Joanna 
to  a  day  school.  Herbert  and  little  Hester  were  kept  at 
home.  My  father  made  Herbert  learn  the  Latin  gram- 
mar, and  thought  he  educated  him.  My  mother  superin- 
tended my  work,  and  heard  me  read  French,  and  left  to 
my  own  discretion  whatever  else  I  might  choose  to  study 
or  teach ;  for  Hester  was  always  considered  my  pupil,  and 
a  large  portion  of  Herbert's  instruction  also  fell  to  my 
share.  This  was  the  state  of  our  household  at  the  pe- 
riod I  have  mentioned. 

I  was  sitting  in  the  dining-room  one  morning  after 
breakfast ;  it  was  our  school-room  in  fact,  for  the  only 
apartment  which  could  have  been  strictly  appropriated  to 
that  purpose  was  very  small,  and  used  by  my  father  part- 
ly as  a  study,  and  partly  as  a  dressing-room.  I  always 
liked  the  dining-room  ;  for  it  had  a  French  window  at  the 
further  end,  opening  upon  the  side  lawn,  which  gave  me 
a  pleasant  feeling  of  being  in  the  country ;  and  as  I 
sat  by  myself  looking  upon  the  ruins  of  the  old  castle,  I 
could  always  find  amusement  in  thinking  of  its  bygone 
history,  and  the  tales  and  legends  associated  with  it.  It 
was  nothing  to  me  then  that  our  dining-room  carpet 
was  faded  from  age  and  constant  wear  ;  or  that  the  walls 
were  dingy,  or  the  festooned  chintz  curtains,  of  a  creeping 
brown  and  yellow  pattern,  more  shabby  than  those  of  our 
neighbours.     Home  was  really  home  in  its  highest  and 

fmrest  sense ;  the  Paradise  of  my  brightest  joys  and  ho- 
iest  affections,  and  my  mother  was  the  angel  of  goodness 
and  beauty  who  blended  with  it  the  charms  of  a  higher 
existence. 

There  I  sat  on  that  morning,  ensconced  in  the  deep 
recess,  trying  to  master  the  confusion  of  names  in  the 
histories  of  the  Persian  kings,  whilst  Hester,  then  about 
four  years  old,  seated  on  a  little  stool  at  my  feet,  was 


&■  THE    EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE. 

learning  a  lesson  in  words  of  one  syllable.  It  washer 
favourite  position  ;  and  I  had  become  so  accustomed  to  it, 
that  I  used  to  fancy  I  could  never  learn  my  own  lesson 
properly,  or  understand  what  I  was  reading,  unless  I 
could  feel  her  little  head  leaning  against  my  lap,  and 
from  tinie  to  time  pass  my  hand  over  her  glossy  brown 
curls,  and  see  her  sweet,  bright,  little  face  looking  up 
ii>to  mine,  with  its  expression  of  wondering  respect  for 
my  superior  wisdom.  Herbert,  I  believe  was  with  my 
father  in  his  study ;  he  was  generally  there  for  about  an 
hour  in  the  morning. 

"We  heard  the  garden  gate  shut ;  and  Hester  jumped 
up  and  ran  to  the  front  window  to  see  if  any  one  was 
coming.  I  don't  think  I  looked  up,  for  I  cared  little  for 
visitors,  and  knew  we  were  not  likely  to  be  interrupted  in 
our  lessons.  "  It  is  only  uncle  Ralph,"  said  Hester,  in  a 
disappointed  tone,  "  he  has  such  a  great  heap  of  papers." 
"  Never  mind,"  I  replied  rather  quickly,  "  Uncle  Ralph's 
papers  are  nothing  to  you  ;  learn  your  lesson  like  a  good 
child,  and  don't  move  again.  Hester  reseated  herself, 
and  we  went  on  with  our  occupations  in  silence.  I  heard 
my  uncle's  step  as  he  went  to  my  father's  study ;  and 
Herbert  was  sent  away  to  learn  his  lessons  by  himself. 
He  looked  into  the  dining-room,  and  told  us  that  uncle 
Ralph  had  brought  the  November  mist  with  him — an  ex- 
pression which  he  had  learnt  from  Reginald,  but  which  I 
thoroughly  understood — and  then  ran  away.  I  am  sure 
I  had  a  presentiment  of  something  untoward  .that  morn- 
ing, I  felt  it  so  very  difficult  to  fix  my  attention ;  in  fact, 
the  idea  of  the  November  mist  could  not  but  be  disagree- 
able. We  always  felt  the  ejBfects  of  these  autumnal  in- 
terviews, though  we  never  knew  what  caused  them. 

It  must  have  been  nearly  an  hour  before  we  were 
again  disturbed,  for  I  know  that  Hester  had  said  her  les- 
sons, and  read,  and  been  sent  into  the  garden  to  play, 
when  the  door  of  the  dining-room  opened  very  hastily, 
and  my  father  and  uncle  came  into  the  room  together. 

My  uncle  Ralph  was  what  might  be  called  a  pleasant- 
looking  person  ;  he  was  tall  and  well  made,  and  his  face 
was  handsome,^— full  and  round,  like  that  of  a  man  at  ease 
with  himself  and  with  the  world ;  he  had  a  high  forehead, 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  9 

rather  receding,  a  bald  head,  a  clear  blue  eye,  a  smiling 
mouth ;  and  he  had  also  that  which  is^a  great  charm  to 
young  people — a  soft  voice  and  smooth,  cordial  manner. 
His  dress  was  always  rather  peculiar.  He  wore  a  blue 
coat  of  an  old-fashioned  cut,  which  no  one  ever  thought 
of  persuading  him  to  remodel  his  cravat  was  tied  in  a 
bow.  very  neat,  but  very  odd.  He  had  gaiters  instead  of 
boots,  and  very  square-toed  shoes.  Some  might  have 
called  him,  at  first  sight,  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school. 
To  me,  however,  he  was  always  the  sharp,  determined, 
eager  man  of  business  of  the  nineteenth  century.  As  far 
back  as  I  can  recollect,  my  impression  of  my  uncle  was  of 
a  man  to  be  feared  ;  and  as  I  grew  older  the  feeling 
strengthened.  If  he  took  notice  of  me,  I  wondered  what 
he  was  wishing  to  gain  by  it ;  if  he  left  me  to  myself,  I 
thought  I  must  have  displeased  him,  and  he  would  get 
me  into  disgrace.  Whatever  he  said,  I,  by  degrees,  learnt 
to  suspect  a  secret  reservation  ;  whatever  he  promised  I 
was  sure  he  could  find  some  way  of  evading  it.  And  yet 
there  was  not  a  single  action  with  which  I  was  acquainted 
in  those  early  years  that  I  could  have  entirely  blamed. 
He  had  such  high-sounding,  kind,  plausible  reasons  for 
all  he  did,  that  any  person  sitting  in  judgment  upon  him, 
might  have  acquitted  him  of  intentional  wrong.  When 
he  came  into  the  dining-room  that  morning,  I  withdrew 
myself  further  into  the  recess,  hoping  to  escape  his  notice. 
He  saw,  and  nodded  to  ifte,  but  he  was  not  in  a  mood  to 
honour  me  with  more  notice.  The  November  mist  had 
plainly  gathered  over  him,  and  over  my  poor  father  also. 
They  were  wishing,  apparently,  to  find  some  paper  or  let- 
ter, for  my  father  drew  out  a  large  tin  box,  which  was 
kept  in  a  closet  by  the  fireplace,  and  told  me  to  go  and 
ask  my  mother  for  the  key.  I  went,  and  returned  almost 
immediately.  My  uncle  stood  with  his  elbow  on  the 
mantelpiece.  My  father  knelt  down  and  lifted  the  box 
with  difiiculty  to  the  table.  I  waited  for  a  moment  to 
know  if  I  could  do  any  thing  else,  and  was  then  ordered 
to  run  away.  I  went  back  to  the  recess  rather  cross. 
"  Why,"  I  thought,  "  did  uncle  Ralph  let  papa  have  all 
the  trouble,  and  not  off'er  to  help  him?" 

"  I  can't  find  it,"  were  the  words  which  again  with- 
1* 


10  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

drew  my  attention  from  the  book.  They  were  spoken 
by  my  father,  in  5  tone  of  singular  petulance.  "  Indeed," 
replied  my  uncle,  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff;  and  he  walked 
up  to  a  little  book-case  by  the  side  of  the  fireplace,  and 
carelessly  took  down  a  volume  from  one  of  the  shelves.  A 
sigh  from  my  father  followed ;  and  it  so  increased  my 
irritation  against  my  uncle,  that  I  deliberately  closed  the 
book  I  was  reading,  and  stood  up,  meaning  to  offer  my 
help.  My  father's  voice,  however,  stopped  me.  "  It  is  no 
use  arguing  the  point,  Ralph,"  he  said ;  "  the  letter  is  not 
necessary.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  what  the  sum  was." 
"  Excuse  me,"  and  my  uncle  smiled,  and  showed  a  set  of 
very  white  teeth  ;  "  we  differ  upon  the  point.  You  say  it 
is  the  interest  of  five-and-twenty  thousand  pounds,  which 
at  four  per  cent,  would  be  a  thousand  a-year.  I  say  it  is 
the  interest  of  twenty  thousand." 

"Then  why  have  I  been  deluded  up  to  this  time?" 
exclaimed  my  father  ;  "  how  comes  it  that  I  have  received 
the  interest  of  five-and-twenty  thousand  for  the  last  four 
years  ?" 

"  Nay,  really,  my  dear  fellow,  indeed  you  must  not 
ask  me  such  a  question  ;  brotherly  affection,  feeling,  every 
thing  would  induce  me  to  cash  your  checques  when  you 
drew  them,  though  you  might  go  a  little  beyond  the  mark. 
Only  when  you  demand  as  a  right  what  is  clearly  only  a 
question  of  kindness,  you  must  expect  me  to  be  a  little,  a 
very  little  startled." 

My  father  stood  up,  and  impatiently  kicking  the  box 
of  papers  away,  threw  himself  into  an  easy  chair. 

"  You  must  just  let  me  recall  the  matter  to  your 
memory  a  little  more  clearly,  my  dear  Herbert,"  contin- 
ued my  uncle,  in  a  tone  which  was  quite  paternal  in  its 
patient  forbearance  and  condescension.  '•  It  is  now  five 
years — five  years,  I  think,  precisely " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  interrupted  my  father,  ''  go  on  !" 

He  had,  I  suspect,  the  same  dislike  which,  in  after 
years,  I  felt  myself  to  my  uncle  Ralph's  very  long,  candid, 
and  exact  statements. 

"  Pardon  me,  you  must  give  me  time,"  continued  my 
uncle  ;  "  it  is  better  at  once  to  put  the  matter  into  a  busi- 
Uess-like  form,  that  there  may  be  no  future  mi'junderstand- 


THE    EXPERIEfJCE    OF    LIFE.  ll 

ings.  Nothing  can  h&  more  painful  than  differences  of 
opinion  on  such  points  between  relations."  My  father 
sank  back  in  his  chair  with  a  resigned  air,  and  my  uncle 
went  on.  I  cannot  give  his  statements  in  his  own  words, 
I  did  not  understand  them  all  at  the  time,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  they  were  involved  in  a  mist  of  technicalities.  But 
the  facts  which  I  gathered  from  what  was  then  said,  and 
from  after-conversations  upon,  the  same  subject,  were  to 
the  following  effect :  between  four  and  five  years  previous, 
my  grandfather,  being  in  a  declining  state  of  health,  and 
anxious  to  have  his  ^vourite  son  settled  near  him,  had 
persuaded  my  father  to  sell  his  commission  and  settle  at 
Carsdale,  under  the  promise  of  a  considerable  increase  of 
income  to  be  enjoyed  during  my  father's  life,  and  fifteen 
thousand  pounds,  and  possibly  much  more,  in  actual  pos- 
session at  my  grandfather's  death.  The  question  now  at 
issue  was  as  to  my  father's  life  income ;  my  uncle  said  it 
was  the  interest  of  twenty  thousand  pounds,  my  father 
declared  it  was  five  and  twenty.  It  was  a  question  seem- 
ingly easy  of  decision,  but  it  was  a  family  matter  ;  there 
had  never  been  any  settled  legal  arrangements  ;  my  grand- 
father had,  indeed,  named  the  sum  in  a  letter,  the  letter 
for  which  my  father  had  been  searching  ;  but  beyond  this 
he  had  done  nothing.  All  the  arrangements  had  been 
confided  to  my  uncle  Ralph.  My  grandfather  soon  after- 
wards fell  into  a  state  of  imbecility ;  and  my  father's  in- 
dolence and  habitual  spirit  of  procrastination  induced  him 
to  trust  entirely  to  my  uncle,  and  take  no  step  for  the  final 
settlement  of  the  business.  When  he  wanted  money  he 
drew  it,  often  to  an  extent  beyond  his  just  due,  even  if 
that  had  been  what  he  believed  it ;  for  he  was  careless 
and  profuse  both  by  nature  and  education.  I  doubt,  in- 
deed, if  he  ever  kept  an  account  book  in  his  life  ;  and  but 
for  my  mother's  thoughtfulness,  he  might  have  spent  dou- 
ble his  income  without  pausing  to  consider  what  he  was 
about. 

This  state  of  things  had  gone  on  without  interruption 
as  I  before  said  for  more  than  four  years.  With  such  a 
large  family,  even  the  fortune  which  my  father  deemed 
his  own,  was  only  enough  to  keep  us  in  moderate  comfort ; 
ajid  a-Uhoiagh  there  was  always  a  floating  idea  that  we 


12  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

were  to  be  rich  when  my  grandfather  died,  and  to  leaTfl 
Castle  House,  and  take  a  large  place  in  the  country,  and 
keep  a  number  of  servants,  and  horses,  and  carriages,  I 
suspect  that  the  prospect  to  my  mother  became,  year  by 
year,  more  and  more  indefinite.  I  know,  at  least,  that 
she  was  always  checking  our  extravagant  notions,  and 
reminding  us  that  whatever  might  be  our  hopes  for  the 
future,  we  had  only  sufficient  for  the  necessaries  of  life  at 
present. 

From  time  to  time  I  imagine  little  differences  had 
arisen  between  my  father  and  my  uncle,  evidenced  to  the 
general  life  only  by  the  November  mists ;  but  such  a  set- 
tled fog  of  gloom  as  was  visible  on  this  morning  to  which 
I  refer,  I  had  never  before  remarked. 

My  uncle  havmg  recapitulated  the  outline  of  the  busi- 
ness facts  in  the  tone  in  which  he  would  have  read  aloud 
a  legal  document ;  marking  the  dates  of  different  little 
incidents  from  the  time  the  arrangement  was  first  pro- 
posed, so  exactly,  that  I  thought  he  must  have  learned 
them  by  heart,  turned  to  my  father  with  a  smile  of  quiet 
triumph,  and  said,  '■  And  now,  my  dear  Herbert,  I  should 
like  to  hear  what  you  have  to  bring  forward  in  reply." 
My  father  looked  up,  in  surprise,  and  answered,  "  You 
don't  touch  the  point !"  "  I  scarcely  see,"  replied  my 
uncle,  "  what  is  to  do  so ;  my  poor-  father's  letter  might 
be  an  evidence  of  his  intention,  but  it  could  give  no  legal 
claim  ;  and,  in  fact,  I  feel  it  would  tell  against  you 
Eight  hundred  a  year  was  what  he  always  said  to  me. 
My  father,  without  venturing  to  reply,  began  another 
search  in  the  box.  "  It  is  useless  to  vex  yourself,  my 
dear  fellow,"  continued  my  uncle ;  "  these  matters  are 
easily  settled  between  brothers.  I  have  only  wished  to 
show  you  that  you  are  not  quite,  not  thoroughly  exact ; 
that,  according  to  your  own  statement  of  your  claims  you 
have  received  more,  I  might  say  a  good  deal  more,  than 
was  actually  due ;  and,  therefore,  if  we  come  to  a  legal 
question,  which  of  course,  however,  we  never  shall,  you 
might  be  rather  a  loser  than  a  gainer."  My  father  sighed, 
my  uncle  contracted  his  mouth  into  the  proper  expression 
of  fraternal  sympathy,  and  went  on :  "I  can  quite  eater 
into  your  disappointment.     Eight  hundred  a  year  is  not 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  13 

a  large  sum  at  the  present  moment ;  it  involves  some  care 
in  household  matters.  My  good  sister-in-law  I  am  afraid 
was  not  brought  up  to  be  economical.  You  might,  per- 
haps,— I  don't  say  it  with  the  least  feeling  of  unkindness, 
— but  you  might,  perhaps,  have  done  better  by  marrying  a 
person  more  accustomed  to  superintend  domestic  matters  ; 

however "    My  father  started  up  :  "  Well,  Ralph  !  we 

won't  talk  any  more."  "  As  you  wish,  it  may  be  better 
not,"  was  my  uncle's  reply ;  and  he  walked  to  the  door, 
turning  round,  when  he  had  half  opened  it,  to  add,  "  You 
must  not  inconvenience  yourself,  my  dear  fellow.  We 
shall  make  all  straight  in  the  end,  I  have  no  doubt."  My 
father  neither  smiled  nor  spoke  in  reply ;  but  when  he 
heard  the  front  door  close  behind  my  uncle,  he  uttered 
an  ejaculation  of  thankfulness. 


CHAPTER   II. 

The  same  afternoon  I  was  sitting  in  a  curious  old-fashion- 
ed apartment  in  a  house  at  the  lower  end  of  the  High 
Street  of  Carsdale.  It  was  the  residence  of  my  great- 
aunt,  my  grandfather's  only  sister.  Miss,  or,  as  she  was 
commonly  caUed,  Mrs.  Sarah  Mortimer.  Aunt  Sarah  was 
my  godmother.  I  had  been  named  after  her  ;  of  course, 
therefore,  I  looked  up  to  her  with  respect.  But  without 
this  species  of  traditionary  reverence,  aunt  Sarah  coula 
never  have  been  considered  an  ordinary  person.  Her 
very  appearance  was  against  it.  The  slender,  tall,  though 
bent  figure,  the  face  wrinkled  with  age,  but  so  decided, 
clever,  and  strikingly  benevolent  in  its  expression ;  with 
the  dress  of  the  pattern  of  fifty  years  back,  the  rich,  dark 
silk  gown,  the  handkerchief  neatly  folded  over  the  neck, 
the  brown,  cloth  mittens,  the  exquisitely  white  cap,  with 
not  a  crease  of  the  lace  frill  out  of  place ; — no,  if  I  had 
not  been  aunt  Sarah's  godchild,  and  as  such  the  recipient 
of  her  warnings  and  her  counsels,  I  must  have  looked 
upon  her  as  a  person  apart  from  others. 

She  had  lived  by  herself  ever  since  the  death  of  her 


14  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

parents ;  at  least,  she  had  done  so  till  within  a  few  yean 
of  the  period  to  which  I  refer,  when,  a  fall  having  ren- 
dered her  even  more  infirm  than  might  have  been  ex 
pected  at  the  age  of  seventj^,  she  engaged  a  lady  to  reside 
with  her  as  a  companion.  Aunt  Sarah's  life  was  always 
described  as  having  been  uneventful ;  its  one  great  sor- 
row being  the  death  of  her  brother  Colonel  Mortimer  : 
but  in  conversing  with  her,  I  always  felt  that  outward 
circumstances  do  not  form  the  history  of  existence. 

In  pursuing  her  even  course,  she  had  lived  far  more 
earnestly,  and  to  a  far  higher  purpose,  than  hundreds  who 
have  been  held  up  to  the  world's  admiration  as  heroines 
of  fortitude  and  energy ;  and  there  was  something  pecu- 
liarly touching  in  the  deep,  silent  love  so  common,  that  it 
was  scarcely  thought  of  or  remembered,  which  clung  to 
her  brother's  memory  through  years  of  loneliness,  and 
gave  the  charm  of  a  woman's  feeling  to  a  character 
which  was  masculine  in  its  strength  of  will  and  vigour  of 
action.  #• 

After  the  death  of  her  mother,  aunt  Sarah  was  offered 
a  home  with  my  grandfather ;  but  the  offer  was  made  for 
her  comfort,  not  for  his,  and  she  declined  it.  Her  spirit 
was  too  independent  for  the  restraint  which  such  a  po- 
sition involved,  unless  she  had  been  upheld  by  a  sense 
of  duty. 

So  she  resisted  the  offer  of  companionship  and  re- 
mained in  her  former  home,  the  dark,  red  brick  house, 
with  stone  facings,  and  a  few  evergreens  in  front,  at  the 
bottom  of  the  High  Street. 

There  was  always  a  romance  to  me,  as  a  child,  about 
aunt  Sarah's  house,  and  about  her  life  also.  I  never  could 
understand  how  she  passed  her  time,  or  what  pleasures 
she  had,  or  how  she  had  any  money  to  live  upon.  Yet 
she  kept  three  servants — an  old  housemaid,  and  a  still 
older  cook,  and  a  kind  of  half  gardener,  half  butler,  whose 
age  might  have  been  dated  from  the  antediluvian  world. 

What  the  servants  did  was  as  great  a  marvel  as  any 
thing.  Such  a  very  long  stone  passage  led  to  the  kitchen, 
and  such  a  range  of  out-of-the-way  offices  lay  beyond  it, 
they  seemed  to  be  quite  cut  off  from  the  rest  of  the  house. 
And  there  was  always  some  secret  brewing,  or  baking,  or 


THE    EXPERIENCE   OF    LIFE.  15 

washing  going  on,  or  some  repast  with  an  unknown  name 
to  be  provided  ;  for,  of  course,  three  servants  with  nothing 
else  to  do,  had  no  resource  except  to  eat,  and  five  meals 
a  day  was  the  ordinary  allowance — breakfast  at  eight, 
luncheon  at  eleven,  dinner  at  one,  tea  at  four,  and  supper 
at  eight.  The  domestic  arrangements  of  that  household 
were  mysteries  which  no  experience  of  after  years  has  en- 
abled me  to  fathom ;  only  I  know  that  no  dinners  were 
ever  so  nicely  dressed  as  aunt  Sarah's,  that  the  home- 
made bread  was  a  delicacy,  the  equal  of  which  I  can  never 
expect  to  taste  again ;  that  the  roast  chicken  and  mashed 
potatoes,  which  I  always  chose  when  I  was  asked  what  I 
would  have  for  dinner,  seemed  to  have  a  peculiar  flavour, 
not  to  be  met  with  elsewhere ;  and  that  the  Oliver  bis- 
cuits, in  the  small  deep,  old  china  dessert  plates,  were  to 
my  belief  then  never  bought  at  any  shop  in  Carsdale,  for 
I  very  often  tried  to  find  them  out,  and  never  could  suc- 
ceed in  procuring  any  which  were  exactly  similar. 

My  mother  was  not  very  well  that  afternoon,  and  had 
sent  us  for  a  walk  with  the  servant,  and  as  there  was 
shopping  to  be  done,  we  went  into  the  town.  I  was  not 
in  a  very  happy  mood,  for  I  was  disappointed  at  not  be- 
ing with  my  mother,  and  I  was  sure  too  that  something 
was  vexing  her.  She  had  spoken  to  me  rather  impatiently, . 
which  she  scarcely  ever  did  unless  when  sorely  tried  by 
home  annoyances,  and  had  complained  of  headach,  to 
which  I  knew  she  was  not  at  all  subject.  Being  in  Cars 
dale,  it  was  right  to  go  and  see  aunt  Sarah  ;  it  would  have 
been  a  treasonable  offence  to  neglect  such  a  common  mark 
of  respect ;  so  we  passed  down  the  hot,  steep  Castle  street, 
and,  casting  furtive  glances  at  the  large  house,  with  nu- 
merous closed  windows,  adjoining  the  bank,  where  my 
grandfather  was  lingering  out  his  last  days  in  quiet  un- 
consciousness of  care,  turned,  as  if  by  instinct,  into  High 
Street,  and  stopped  at  my  aunt's  door. 

We  entered  the  house  without  knocking  or  ringing  at 
the  street  door.  It  was  a  licence  accorded  to  our  supe- 
rior good  conduct,  for  we  were  always  particularly  well 
behaved  in  aunt  Sarah's  presence,  and  I  do  not  remember 
that  even  a  scramble  for  caraway  comfits,  or  a  game  of 
ball  with  oranges,  ever  led  us  beyond  the  bounds  of  sober 
Batisfaction. 


16  THE    EXPERIENCE   OF    LIFE. 

My  aunt  often  used  to  pat  our  heads,  and  say  wi 
were  quiet,  good  children ;  but  I  never  liked  the  expres- 
sion, for  it  touched  my  conscience,  and  gave  me  an  impulse 
to  confess  that  we  were  often  .noisy  and  naughty  at  home. 
She  was  very  pleased  to  see  us  when  we  walked  into  the 
room,  after  duly  tapping  at  the  door  of  the  parlour,  where 
she  was  sitting ;  the  drawing-room  being  never  used  ex- 
cept on  state  occasions.  Miss  Cole,  her  companion,  a 
gentle,  ladylike  person,  about  five  and  thirty  years  of  age, 
had  been  reading  a  paper  in  the  Spectator,  whilst  my  aunt 
diligently  knitted.  The  paper  was  just  finished,  so  that 
we  were  no  interruption ;  and  I  dare  say  Miss  Cole  was 
not  at  all  sorry  to  be  released  from  her  duty,  and  allowed 
to  refresh  herself  by  a  little  walk  in  the  narrow  strip  of 
garden  behind  the  house,  for  the  sun  poured  in  at  the 
windows,  and  the  room  was  very  warm.  As  usual,  we 
were  asked  a  good  many  questions,  and  were  regaled  with 
a  piece  of  home-made  cake,  and  Herbert  and  Hester  found 
amusement  for  a  considerable  time  in  the  ornaments  upon 
the  mantel-piece,  particularly  in  the  figure  of  the  old  monk, 
who  acted  as  aunt  Sarah's  barometer,  and  always  put  his 
cowl  on  his  head  when  it  was  going  to  rain,  and  the  won- 
derful pig  made  of  Indian  rubber,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
tiny  wax  dolls  who  danced  on  the  wires  of  the  old  harpsi- 
chord, whilst  I  played  "  Little  Bo-peep"  to  them.  These 
were  never-tiring  delights  to  them ;  but  I  had  advanced 
rather  beyond  such  pleasures ;  and  when  aunt  Sarah,  hav- 
ing exhausted  all  her  powers  of  amusement,  suggested 
that  they  should  go  and  finish  the  shopping  that  was  to 
be  done,  and  that  I  should  stay  with  her  and  rest,  I  was 
quite  pleased  at  the  distinction.  I  was  always  old  for  my 
age,  and  on  that  day  my  mind  had  certainly  made  a  shoot. 
An  incipient  dread  of  my  uncle  Ralph  had  grown  into 
positive  dislike;  and  a  misgiving  that  my  father  and 
mother  were  not  always  happy^  into  a  determined  resolu- 
tion of  finding  out  what  was  amiss,  and  never  resting  till 
I  had  done  something  to  help  them.  These  thoughts 
were  so  much  in  my  mind  that  when  I  sat  down  on  the 
window  seat  by  aunt  Sarah's  arm-ghair,  and  began  to  watch 
the  people  passing  along  the  street,  instead  of  amusing 
myself  with  their  dress,  or  way  of  walking,  or  wondering 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  17 

what  thay  were  saying  to  each  other,  as  they  stopped  to 
hold  a  few  moments'  conversation,  the  question  which  most 
frequently  suggested  itself  was,  "  had  they  an  uncle  Ralph 
to  worry  them."  Aunt  Sarah  went  on  with  her  knitting, 
not  troubling  herself  to  talk  to  me ;  we  were  accustomed 
■*^'o  this  kind  of  silent  sociability,  and  I  was  always  too 
fond  of  following  my  own  ways  quietly  to  wish  for  notice. 
We  did  talk  at  last,  however,  and  I  began,  after  having 
surveyed  for  some  minutes  an  old  beggar  woman,  who 
was  nearly  sinking  under  the  weight  of  a  basket  she  was 
carrying.  "Aunt  Sarah,  how  old  are  you?"  "  Seventy, 
child,  my  last  birth-day."  "  And  how  old  is  uncle  Ralph  ?" 
"!Forty-five  the  last  17th  of  November."  I  suppose  I 
sighed,  for  my  aunt's  next  question  was :  "  What  is  the 
matter  ?"  "  I  wish  you  were  uncle  Ralph,  and  that  uncle 
Ralph  were  you,  aunt  Sarah,"  I  replied.  "  Don't  talk 
nonsense,  child  ;  what  good  would  that  do  you?"  There 
was  no  severity  in  aunt  Sarah's  tone,  though  there  was  a 
little  abruptness  in  h«r  words,  and  I  answered  boldly,  '•  I 
should  like  you  to  have  the  good  many  years  to  live,  and 
not  uncle  Ralph."  My  aunt  turned  round  suddenly,  and 
looking  at  me  keenly,  through,  her  large  silver  mounted 
spectacles,  exclaimed,  "  What's  in  the  child's  head  now  ?" 
The  quickness  startled  me,  and  I  murmured  out  some- 
thing about  her  being  so  kind ;  but  I  did  not  lilie  the 
sentence,  for  I  felt  it  was  an  evasion,  and  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause.  I  added,  "  We  don't  like  uncle  Ralph  as  we 
do  you,  aunt  Sarah,  and  we  never  go  to  see  him."  "  The 
way  of  the  world,"  muttered  my  aunt,  shaking  her  head, 
"  what  they  can  get,  that's  it."  "  I  shouldn't  like  uncle 
Ralph  for  what  I  could  get  ever,"  I  exclaimed,  rather  in- 
dignantly. "  Wait  till  you  are  tried,  child,"  answered 
my  aunt,  and  a  peculiar  smile  caine  over  her  face,  a  sort 
of  internal  smile  which  just  curled  the  corners  of  her 
mouth,  but  did  not  give  the  least  brightness  to  her  eye, 
and  died  away  in  a  sigh.  I  began  to  think  she  was  dis- 
pleased, for  she  sat  for  several  minutes  after  this  think- 
ing and  not  working ;  and  I  tried  again  to  amuse  myself 
by  gazing  out  of  the  window  ;  but  the  unconquerably  per- 
tinacious spirit,  which  was  one  of  my  distinguish! ag  char* 
acteristics  in  those  early  days,  made  me  pursue  the  sub 
ject  even  at  the  risk  of  getting  into  disgrace. 


18  THE    EXPERIENCE    OE    LIFE, 

Is  uncle  Ralph  rich?  was  my  next  question.  "That's 
as  may  be,"  was  my  aunt's  prudent  answer;  take  what 
you  have,  Sally,  and  don't  trouble  yourself  about  what 
doesn't  concern  you."  "  But  it  does  concern  us,"  I  re- 
plied, "  because  if  uncle  Ralph  is  rich  he  might  give  papa 
some  more  money."  My  aunt  put  her  hand  on  my  shoul-* 
der,  and  holding  me  with  a  grasp  which  gave  double  eflfect 
to  her  energetic  words,  said :  "  Listen  to  me,  child,  and 
when  I  am  dead  and  gone,  remember  what  I  say.  Don't 
be  a  burden  upon  any  one :  you  have  head  and  hands,  use 
them."  "  But  uncle  Ralph  ought  to  help ;  he  ought  to 
give  papa  money  if  he  is  rich,"  T  exclaimed  angrily,  for  I 
felt  as  if  my  aunt's  words  were  in  some  indirect  way  an 
imputation  upon  my  father.  "^  Never  mind  uncle  Ralph, 
child  ;  if  he  has  money,  that  is  no  business  of  yours  ;  let 
him  have  it,  but  never  be  too  proud  to  work."  "  No,  in- 
deed," I  replied  eagerly ;  "  if  I  could  work ;  if  I  might 
do  any  thing  for  poor  papa."  "  Very  well,"  and  my  aunt 
patted  my  head  approvingly ;  "  only  J^eep  to  it,  and  when 
you  are  a  grown-up  woman  look  to  yourself,  and  never 
be  a  burden,  and  remember  aunt  Sarah."  Miss  Cole 
came  into  the  room  just  then,  with  our  nurse  and 
the  children,  and  the  conversation  was  stopped,  but  its 
effects  remained.  "  Look  to  yourself,  and  never  be  a 
burden,"  I  repeated  to  myself,  as  I  put  on  my  bonnet  to 
go.  I  tried  to  understand  all  that  the  words  meant,  but 
I  had  only  an  indistinct  impression.  They  gave  me, 
however,  a  brave,  determined,  independent  feeling,  such 
a^  one  might  imagine  to  inspire  a  soldier  with  courage 
on  the  eve  of  a  battle.  I  fancied  them  my  motto,  and  T 
liked  to  think  they  could  apply  to  me. 

A  mere  mockery  they  might  have  seemed  to  any  one 
who  looked  at  my  thin,  sallow  face  and  slight  figure  ;  but 
my  aunt  Sarah  understood  me. 


CHAPTER  III, 

As  I  wrote  the  last  few  sentences,  I  thought  to  myself, 
how  very  worldly  that  kind  of  advice  and  resolution  will 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  IS 

appear  to  many  people — how  proud  and  self-confident : 
but  I  do  not  think  it  would  be  a  fair  judgment  to  pass. 
The  quality  of  advice  depends  very  much  upon  the  per- 
son from  whom  it  proceeds :  that  which  would  be  pride 
in  one  case  is  only  proper  energy  in  another.  My  aunt 
Sarah  was  a  Christian  to  the  fullest  extent  of  that  all- 
comprehensive  title;  old-fashioned  indeed  in  some  of  her 
notions,  prejudiced  against  what  she  imagined  innovation, 
but  humble,  devoted,  and  self-denying,  to  an  extent  which 
I  have  only  lately  begun  to  understand  and  appreciate. 
Some  of  the  best  and  truest  lessons  of  the  "  wisdom  that 
Cometh  from  above,"  were  learnt  by  me  from  her  lips,  and 
even  as  a  child  I  never  for  an  instant  imagined  that  when 
she  endeavoured  to  rouse  lay  spirit,  and  inspire  me  with 
confidence  in  my  own  powers,  she  ever  meant  to  put  aside 
that  first  basis  of  all  right  exertion,  trust  in  Him  who 
iilone  can  make  it  prosper. 

Her  short,  sharp  maxims  of  worldly  policy  were  there- 
fore never  misleading,  for  I  learnt  insensibly  to  give  them 
their  due  check  and  counterpoise.  Even  if  she  had  never 
said  anything  directly  bearing  upon  the  subject  of  reli- 
gion, the  very  sight  of  her  reverent  manner,  when  I  read 
with  her,  as  I  frequently  did,  the  Psalms  for  the  day, 
would  have  been  suj0&cient  to  impress  me  with  deep  se- 
riousness. She  always  stood  at  those  times,  her  hands 
folded  together,  and  her  eyes  never  moving  from  the  page 
before  her.  Not  that  the  book  was  necessary  as  a  guide. 
She  could  repeat  the  greater  part  of  the  Psalms  by  heart, 
and  always  knew  those  which  were  appointed  for  each 
day.  I  never  now  read  the  Psalms  for  the  eighteenth 
morning  of  the  month,  without  thinking  of  her.  They 
were  her  great  favourites  ;  and  it  was  with  a  touching  so- 
lemnity of  feeling  that  she  would  follow  my  voice  in  a 
deep  whisper,  as  I  read  aloud  the  words  of  the  Psalmist, 
"  The  days  of  our  age  are  three-score  years  and  ten,  and 
though  men  be  so  strong  that  they  come  to  four-score 
years,  yet  is  tlieir  strength  then  but  labour  and  sorrow, 
so  soon  passeth  it  away  and  we  are  gone." 

Aunt  Sarah's  influence  was  certainly  more  important 
to  me  than  any  other  at  that  time,  and  for  many  years 
after.     It  would  be  tedious  to  relate  all  the  incidents  of 


20  THE   EXPERIENCE   OE   LIFE. 

those  childish  days,  even  if  I  could  remember  them, 
Those  I  have  mentioned  have  been  selected,  because  al- 
though trifling  in  themselves,  they  stamped  a  definite  im 
pression  upon  my,  as  yet,  unformed  character,  which  I 
can  trace  to  this  hour.  From  that  period  I  began  to 
watch  more  narrowly  the  course  of  our  domestic  affairs. 
and  even  in  a  measure  to  understand  them.  No  great 
changes,  indeed,  followed  the  conversation  which  had  so 
awakened  my  suspicions  of  evil.  My  brothers  and  sisters 
continued  at  school,  and  we  kept  the  same  number  of  ser- 
vants, and  lived  very  much  in  the  same  style  as  before, 
professedly  careful,  but  really  the  reverse  ;  but  through 
all  I  could  see  that  my  mother  was  uneasy.  Every  now 
and  then  I  caught  accidentally  the  last  words  of  private 
conversations  between  her  and  my  father,  the  burden  of 
which  was,  almost  invariably,  economy.  My  brother 
Reginald,  the  careful  member  of  the  family,  a  shrewd, 
clever  boy,  about  a  year  older  than  myself,  was  generally 
sent  to  the  bank  with  .my  father's  cheques ;  because  for 
some  unknown  reason  my  father  never  would  go  himself, 
though  the  walk  into  the  town  might  have  seemed  a  plea- 
sant occupation  for  an  idle  man.  Reginald  was  careless 
of  reproof,  and  endowed  with  a  most  indomitable  will, 
yet  he  seldom  returned  from  these  money  errands  without 
declaring  to  me  in  private,  that  nothing  should  induce 
him  to  go  again :  the  bank  was  such  a  dingy  hole,  and  the 
clerks  were  so  awfully  sour,  and  uncle  Ralph  so  repelling 
with  his  short  '•  hem !"  and  his  frowning  forehead  and 
hasty  "  There,  run  away  boy,  and  don't  come  again." 
Some  one  else  should  go  next  time.  But  when  "  next 
time"  came,  the  "  some  one  else"  was  not  to  be  found, 
and  Reginald  still  undertook  the  unpleasant  business. 
My  grandfather  lingered  in  a  state  of  second  childhood 
much  longer  than  any  one  anticipated.  Naturally  he 
must  have  had  a  very  strong  constitution,  and  I  think 
all  of  us,  except  myself,  inherited  it.  My  uncle  Ralph, 
with  the  help  of  a  partner,  managed  his  business  and 
lived  in  the  same  house,  a  sufficient  excuse  for  the  cir- 
cumstance to  which  I  had  referred  in  my  conversation 
with  aunt  Sarah,  that  we  were  never  invited  to  visit  him. 
There  is  something  peculiarly  startling  to  children  in  the 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  21 

sight  of  imbecility.  Age  is  always  associated  in  their 
minds  with  reverence,  and  neither  my  father  nor  mother 
were  willing  to  run  any  risk  of  shocking  us  by  an  inter- 
view with  my  poor  grandfather,  which  my  uncle  always 
declared  could  not  be  guarded  against,  if  we  were  ever  ad- 
mitted to  the  house.  Doubtless,  if  my  uncle  had  been 
fond  of  children,  he  would  have  found  some  way  of  seeing 
us  alone,  for  the  house  was  large  and  rambling ;  and  that 
part  of  it  appropriated  to  my  grandfather  was  separated 
from  the  other  rooms  by  a  long  passage,  and  there  was 
besides  a  garden  at  the  back,  where  my  grandfather  was 
never  seen  except  at  stated  times  ;  but  there  were  always 
objections,  and  no  one  thought  of  obviating  them,  and  so 
we  lived  on  totally  apart,  except  on  the  occasion  of  my 
uncle  Ralph's  business  visits  to  my  father.  During  this 
time  my  two  elder  sisters  were  completing  their  education 
at  a  very  tolerable  school  in  Carsdale,  where  they  were 
allowed  as  a  favour,  and  in  consideration  of  a  long  stand- 
ing family  acquaintance,  to  attend  as  day-boarders.  I 
must  own,  I  often  envied  them.  It  seemed  as  if  it  must 
be  so  pleasant  to  work  with  other  girls  with  the  stimulus 
of  emulation,  and  the  hope  of  at  length  excelling.  J 
plodded  on  by  myself,  and,  I  can  believe  now,  learnt  what 
I  did  attempt  much  more  thoroughly  than  I  should  have 
done  at  school.  But  my  sisters  were  then,  to  my  eyes, 
prodigies  of  skill  and  accomplishment.  Caroline,  who 
was  four  years  older  than  myself,  was  remarkable  for  a 
peculiar  kind  of  prudential  cleverness,  which,  if  she  had 
been  thoroughly  well-educated,  might  have  been  turn- 
ed to  very  good  account.  I  never  knew  any  one  who 
could  seize  the  difficult  points  of  an  intricate  question,  and 
make  doubtful  cases  as  clear  and  convincing  as  she  could. 
Hers  was  a  mind  which  seemed  to  watch  and  understand 
all  that  was  going  on,  and  know  exactly  what  every  one 
meant,  or  was  wishing  for.  She  could  calculate  to  a 
nicety  the  effect  of  her  own  words,  and  could  always  pro- 
phesy the  line  of  conduct  which  her  companions  would 
pursue.  She  was  not  accomplished,  or  elegant,  or  pretty, 
or  really  well-informed,  yet,  by  some  marvellous  tact,  she 
managed  to  pass  for  all.  Whatever  she  wore  was  so 
well  chosen  and  so  neatly  put  on,  that  one  forgot  in  the 


22  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

• 

good  taste  of  the  dress  any  personal  defects  in  the  wearer 
Whatever  she  said  was  brought  forward  at  such  a  happy 
moment,  that  it  had  twice  the  value  of  an  ordinary  obser- 
vation. She  never  hazarded  any  thing.  If  she  sat  down 
to  the  piano,  she  played  a  merry  country  dance  or  quad- 
rille, and  people  said,  "  Miss  Mortimer's  music  was  so 
inspiriting,  it  was  quite  a  treat."  If  she  drew,  she  cop- 
ied some  good  pencil  drawings,  and  was  praised  for  her 
bold  style ;  if  she  ventured  upon  points  of  history  or 
general  literature,  she  was  certain  to  have  made  herself 
quite  mistress  of  the  facts  connected  with  them  before 
she  ventured  to  allude  to  them ;  or,  if  they  were  brought 
forward  in  general  conversation,  she  was  judiciously  si- 
lent, till  enough  had  been  gathered  from  the  remarks  of 
other  persons  to  allow  of  her  offering  a  safe,  general  ob- 
servation, which  implied  that  she  knew  all  that  was  to  be 
known.  I  do  not  remember  ever  to  have  heard  her  confess 
herself  ignorant  upon  any  subject,  or  make  a  single  remark 
which  could  be  turned  to  ridicule.  My  mother  was  not 
in  the  least  able  to  cope  with  a  character  like  this.  She 
was  so  affectionate,  simple,  straightforward,  and  humble- 
minded,  that  I  am  quite  sure  she  not  only  did  not  under- 
stand Caroline,  but  she  was  afraid  of  her.  We  all,  in- 
deed, had  a  habit  of  deferring  to  her  ;  and  this  may,  per- 
haps, have  increased  the  great  fault  of  her  disposition^ 
selfishness.  Some  characters  expand,  but  never  rise  ; 
others  rise,  but  never  expand.  The  former  are  clever  and 
useful,  but  worldly ;  the  latter  are  earnest  and  devoted, 
but  narrow  and  superstitious.  Caroline  belonged  to  the 
former  class.  She  had  no  high  aims  or  motives,  and 
though  she  would  allow  of  their  existence,  it  was  always 
with  a  smile  at  their  delusiveness.  I  believe  she  set  out  in 
life,  in  her  life  at  school  even,  with  a  determination  of 
making  her  way  by  herself  and  for  herself,  and  unques- 
tionably she  succeeded,  as  regards  this  world,  entirely. 

Joanna  was  in  all  respects  unlike  Caroline.  Outward 
appearance  must  always  have  an  effect  upon  character,  and 
I  have  sometimes  amused  myself  by  fancying  what  ray  two 
elder  sisters  would  have  been,  if  Caroline  had  possessed 
Joanna's  decided  beauty,  and  Joanna  been  gifted  only 
with  Caroline's  sturdy,  compact  figure,  and  square,  intelli- 


.  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE,  23 

geiii  features.  For  Joanna  was  beautiful  from  childhood : 
her  long  fair  curls,  and  transparent  complexion,  and  bril- 
liant blue  eyes,  began  the  work  of  mischief,  I  have  been 
told,  at  four  years  old,  when  she  used  to  stand  before  the 
glass  and  say  "  pretty."  My  father  and  mother,  all  of  us 
indeed,  were  so  proud  of  her,  I  can  never  wonder  at  the 
faults  which  showed  themselves  as  she  grew  up.  From 
my  earliest  years  I  was  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of  beauty. 
One  of  my  peculiar  pleasures  in  being  with  my  mother 
was  the  delight  I  took  in  looking  at  her  sweet  face  ;  and 
Joanna  was  more  than  pretty — she  really  was  lovely. 
Her  figure,  too,  was  good  ;  and  her  manners  were  very 
agreeable,  when  she  could  be  kept  quiet  and  free  from 
§elf-consciousness :  that  spoilt  her  very  much,  but  she 
showed  less  of  it  at  home  than  when  in  society.  I  could 
see  but  few  defects  in  her  in  those  days,  though  she  was 
as  remarkable  for  want  of  tact  as  Caroline  for  possessing 
it.  She  was  variable,  and  moody,  and  fond  of  excitement, 
and  exceedingly  alive  to  the  opinion  of  the  world,  and 
fearful  of  being  unfashionable  or  deficient  in  style  or  man- 
ner ;  but  she  was  lively,  affectionate,  and  open-hearted, 
and  I  loved  her  too  well  and  too  humbly  to  think  of 
blame. 

Caroline  and  Joanna  were  seventeen  and  eighteen 
when  they  left  school.  It  was  Caroline's  own  wish  to  re- 
main as  long  as  her  sister.  I  think  school  must  have 
been  an  excitement  to  her,  and  that  she  did  not  wish  to 
go  through  the  ordeal  of  a  twelvemonth's  recluse  life  be- 
fore she  went  into  society.  She  was  anxious  to  step  from 
the  school-room  into  what,  for  her,  was  the  gay  world,  at 
once  ;  and  though  the  expense  which  the  arrangement  in- 
volved was  a  matter  of  serious  importance,  Caroline's  in- 
fluence was  so  great  that  it  was  agreed  to  without  much 
difficulty.  I  cannot  help  smiling  when  I  think  what  our 
notions  of  society  were  then.  We  had  never  known  any- 
thing of  it  except  at  Carsdale ;  and  there  it  was  limited 
almost  entirely  to  the  residents  in  the  town.  My  father's 
indolence,  and  my  mother's  wish  to  be  economical,  pro- 
vented  them  from  enlarging  their  acquaintance  ;  and  our 
intercourse  with  our  country  neighbours  was  carried  on 
by  yearly  or  half-yearly  morning  visits,  which    brought 


24  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

with  them  neither  pleasure  nor  profit  beyond  the  excite- 
ment of  a  drive  in  an  open  fly  to  any  of  us  who  were  al- 
lowed to  go.  My  mother's  family  I  always  understood 
were  persons  of  rather  a  fashionable  cast,  but  they  were 
all  married,  and  dispersed  in  difi"erent  parts  of  the  world ; 
and  I  never  heard  anything  of  them,  except  by  occasional 
letters.  Some  of  these  did  now  and  then  give  us  an  idea 
of  a  different  style  of  amusement  from  the  dulness  of 
Garsdale  dissipations  ;  but  we  were  all  contented  with  our 
lot  there:  the  least  event  was  a  novelty,  and  I  believe 
Caroline  and  Joanna  looked  forward  with  as  much  inter- 
est to  their  first  evening  party,  given  by  Mrs.  Blair,  the 
wife  of  a  physician  in  Carsdale,  as  if  it  had  been  a  pre- 
lude to  the  delights  of  a  London  season. 

I  am  afraid  there  was  no  simplicity  in  this.  Simplici- 
ty cannot  be  a  question  of  large  or  small  rooms,  costly 
furniture  or  plain,  splendid  entertainments  or  homely 
ones.  The  daughter  of  a  nobleman  may  be  simple  in  the 
midst  of  luxury,  and  the  daughter  of  a  lawyer  or  a  clergy- 
man full  of  pretension  in  a  home  of  onlj'^  ordinary  com- 
fort. 

There  may  be  greater  risk  in  the  one  .position  than  in 
the  other,  but  even  upon  this  point  I  have  learnt  to  be 
skeptical ;  or  at  least  to  inquire  whether,  when  the  Bible 
warns  us  of  the  danger  of  riches,  it  does  not  include  the 
easy  opulence  of  respectability,  as  well  as  the  extravagant 
refinement  of  the  highest  classes. 

Certainly  my  experience  of  Carsdale  society  did  not 
lead  me  to  suppose  that  homeliness  was  necessarily  unpre- 
tending ;  or  that  an  education,  without  accomplishments, 
must  form  a  strong,  sensible  character.  But  this  is  mere- 
ly forestalling  the  opinion  of  after  years.  At  the  time 
of  which  I  am  writing  I  thought  little  upon  any  subjects 
of  that  kind.  The  period  was  very  important  to  me,  but 
from  a  cause  totally  unlike  that  which  gave  it  interest  to 
my  sisters — I  was  preparing  for  confirmation. 

What  first  made  me  think  seriously  about  religion  I 
cannot  tell.  Is  it  not  indeed  a  deep  mystery  why  and 
how  the  mercy  of  God  vouchsafes  to  waken  us,  either 
early  or  late,  to  a  sense  of  the  true  end  of  existence  ? 
Perhaps  illness  had  rendered  me  thoughtful ;  perhaps  my 


THE    EXPERIENCE   OP  LIFE.  25 

frequent  visits  to  aunt  Sarah  had  insensibly  inspired  me 
with  something  of  her  own  earnestness ;  or,  possibly,  the 
insight  into  family  cares,  which  I  had  attained,  had  dark- 
ened what  would  otherwise  have  been  my  brilliant  expec- 
tations of  the  future.  I  do  not  know  how  all  this  was  ; 
but  I  am  sure  that  at  that  time  religion  was  not  the  gov- 
erning motive  of  my  family.  My  dear  mother,  indeed, 
was  an  exception,  but  she  was  so  reserved  that  it  was  with 
difficulty  she  could  bring  herself  to  speak  upon  the  sub- 
ject even  to  her  children,  and  her  natural  timidity  of 
character  often,  I  suspect,  made  her  yield  to  the  wishes 
of  others  against  her  better  judgment.  We  went  to  church 
twice  every  Sunday,  and  had  family  prayers  every  morn- 
ing ;  in  the  evening,  for  some  reason  I  could  never  under- 
stand, it  was  not  considered  practicable.  When  we  were 
little  children  we  said  our  catechism  and  collects  to  my 
father  on  a  Sunday  evening,  and  looked  at  the  pictures  in 
an  old  family  Bible ;  but  beyond  this  we  had  little  direct 
instruction. 

I  believe  myself  that,  humanly  speaking,  it  was  from 
aunt  Sarah  I  derived  all  my  deeper  feelings  of  this  kind. 
Amongst  other  things  I  remember  being  particularly 
struck  with  the  care  she  took  to  enable  Miss  Cole  to  at- 
tend the  Wednesday  and  Friday  services,  in  Carsdale 
Church,  though  she  was  a  great  deal  too  infirm  to  go  her- 
«elf. 

There  is  something  in  every  household  to  which  all 
other  objects  or  pursuits  must  give  way.  In  aunt  Sarah's 
it  was  religion.  It  was  impossible  to  be  long  with  her 
without  discovering  it,  and  this  sort  of  deference  in  ac- 
tion was  infinitely  more  impressive  than  any  words. 

My  brothers  and  sisters  felt  it  as  well  as  myself, 
though  in  a  less  degree.  Caroline,  who  always  laughed 
at  what  she  called  over-strictne"ss,  used  to  declare  that 
aunt  Sarah  had  trained  even  her  canary  bird  to  keep 
quiet  on  its  perch  when  the  Bible  was  brought  out. 

Aunt  Sarah  was  certainly  the  person  who  sympathised 
the  most  openly  with  the  feelings  which  the  thought  of 
my  confirmation  excited  in  me.  For  several  weeks  I  went 
regularly  to  be  examined  by  Mr.  Benson,  the  rector,  on 
which  occasion  I  answered  questions  from  the  catechism. 
2 


26  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

and  listened  to  a  set  of  lectures  addressed  to  me,  in  com 
mon  with  the  other  candidates  for  confirmation.  But  Mr. 
Benson  was  an  old  man,  who  had  never  been  accustomed 
to  interfere  in  any  way  with  the  better  class  of  his  parish- 
ioners, and  when  my  mother  first  introduced  me  lo  him, 
particularly,  before  my  examination,  I  remember  he  of- 
fered at  once  to  give  me  a  ticket,  saying  he  was  sure  that 
the  child  of  such  admirable  parents  must  be  well  prepared. 
It  was  from  my  own  choice  that  I  attended  the  confirma- 
tion classes,  as  they  were  called,  for  I  was  determined  to 
gain  all  the  instruction  I  could.  My  mother  said  in  her 
quiet  way  that  she  should  be  glad  for  me  to  go ;  but  aunt 
Sarah  warmly  approved  of  my  determination,  and  used  to 
make  me  dine  with  her  every  day  after  I  had  been  to  Mr. 
Benson's,  that  she  might  hear  all  he  had  said,  and 
give  me  a  little  help  from  her  own  experience.  Such  cu- 
rious, pithy  pieces  of  advice  I  received  from  her  at  those 
times  !  I  wish  I  could  remember  them  in  her  own  words  ; 
but  they  worked  themselves,  as  it  were,  into  my  mind,  and 
became  so  much  a  part  of  myself  that  I  cannot  now  sepa- 
rate them  from  the  opinions  formed  from  my  own  know- 
ledge of  life.  ''  Order,  child,  that  is  the  main  thing,"  she 
used  sometimes  to  say  to  me.  "  Seek  ye  first  the  king- 
dom of  God ;  first  in  time,  first  in  place.  The  world  is 
in  a  tangle  ;  Grod  naeans  us  to  put  it  straight ;  he  tells  us 
how ;  if  we  won't  listen  it  will  be  in  a  tangle  all  our  lives." 

This  notion  of  order  w'as  a  very  favourite  one  of  hers. 
She  was  wonderfully  neat,  not  merely  from  taste  but  prin- 
ciple ;  for  she  was  a  deep  thinker  in  her  quaint  way ;  and 
I  really  believe  seldom  even  folded  u|^,a  handkerchief  to 
put  it  aside  in  her  drawer,  without  some  allusion  in  her 
own  niind  to  what  she  called  the  typical  meaning  of  this 
necessary  daily  duty. 

I  am  not  orderly  myself,  though  I  am  an  old  maid ;  it 
is  not  in  my  nature  ;  but  I  know  I  should  have  been 
much  worse  if  it  had  not  been  for  aunt  Sarah's  injunc- 
tions :  and  certainly,  as  regards  the  mind,  I  have  been 
struck  constantly  with  the  wonderful  assistance  which  the 
principle  of  seeking  the  kingdom  of  God  first  affords  in 
deciding  questions  apparently  belonging  only  to  this  world. 


THE    EXPERIENCE   OF    LIFE  27 


CHAPTER   lY. 


The  day  of  my  confirmation  was  the  day  of  Mrs.  Blair's 
ball,  my  sister's  first  party.  There  was  a  very  odd  med- 
ley of  feeling  and  occupation  in  our  house  on  that  morn- 
ing. The  confirmation  was  not  set  aside  or  forgotten,  for 
in  its  way  it  was  almost  as  great  an  excitement  as  the 
ball.  The  Bishop  was  to  have  luncheon  at  Mr.  Benson's ; 
and  Herbert  and  Hester  stood  at  the  drawing-room  win- 
dow nearly  an  hour  after  breakfast  to  watch  for  his  car- 
riage. A  great  many  persons,  whose  children  were  to  be 
confirmed,  were  expected  from  the  country,  and  my  mother 
thought  it  a  good  opportunity  of  showing  attention  easily  ; 
and  therefore  prepared  a  sort  of  cold  dinner,  which  might 
save  our  servants  trouble,  and  allow  of  any  chance  vis- 
itors being  invited.  Her  notions  were  very  simple,  but 
Caroline  and  Joanna  were  determined  that  if  their  friends 
did  come  they  should  find  every  thing  in  proper  style. 
They  arranged  the  dishes  on  the  table  themselves,  and 
not  only  gathered  every  flower  in  the  garden  to  fill  a 
glass  vase  for  the  centre,  but  even  made  interest  with 
aunt  Sarah's  old  Richard  to  send  a  few  choice  roses.  It 
was  with  great  difficulty  that  I  was  allowed  to  remain 
quietly  in  my  own  room.  I  do  not  think  I  should  have 
been  but  for  the  interposition  of  little  Hester,  who  always 
bad  an  instinct* as  to  my  wishes,  and  persuaded  Caroline 
and  Joanna  that  she  could  make  a  much  better  waiting- 
woman  than  I  could,  because  I  was  so  soon  tired. 

I  remember  listening,  as  I  stood  at  the  door  of  my 
little  bed-room  within  the  nursery,  to  the  unusual  noises 
in  the  house,  the  rushing  up  and  down  stairs,  the  raised 
voices,  the  clatter  of  trays  and  glasses,  and  plates,  the  roll 
of  the  carriages  driving  into  the  town,  and  feeling  very 
disturbed  and  uncomfontable.  Certainly  the  world  was,  as 
aunt  Sarah  had  said,  in  a  tangle,  and  how  was  I  to  put  it 
right  ?  I  shut  my  door  and  sat  down  to  read  for  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour,  before  I  put  on  my  things  to  go  to  church. 
In  whatever  state  the  world  might  be,  there  was  ne  doubt 
that  my  first  duty  was  order  in  my  own  mind.     Whilst  I 


28  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

was  thus  engaged  my  mother  came  into  the  room.  Bht 
wanted  to  know  if  I  was  ready.  She  wished  to  go  early, 
she  said,  for  there  were  one  or  two  things  wanting  for  din- 
ner, and  she  must  order  them  as  we  went  into  the  town. 
I  suppose  something  in  my  countenance-  showed  that  this 
sort  of  business  proceeding  was  not  quite  in  accordance 
with  the  tone  of  my  mind,  for  she  stopped  in  the  middle 
of  a  sentence,  and  said  that  she  would  not  trouble  me 
just  then  about  such  things,  only  I  must  be  ready  soon. 
And  then  she  produced  a  very  prettily  bound  Prayer  Book, 
such  as  had  been  given  to  my  sisters  on  their  confirma- 
tion, and  offered  it  to  me  with  a  most  fond  kiss,  and  a 
whispered  prayer  that  God  would  bless  me  and  make  me 
a  good  child.  This  was  all  I  desired  from  her  at  that 
moment.  I  could  not  have  talked  to  her  even  if  she  had 
given  me  the  opportunity.  I  was  contented  to  know  that 
she  had  an  especial  thought  for  me  in  the  midst  of  the 
bustle  of  the  day  ;  and  after  thanking  her  with  tears  in 
my  eyes,  I  began  to  prepare  for  church.  As  I  went  down 
stairs  I  heard  my  mother  call  Caroline  aside,  and  ask 
whether  Fanny,  the  parlour  maid,  could  not  go  into  the 
town  for  what  was  wanted ;  but  Caroline  negatived  the 
idea  instantly,  and  said  that  Fanny  was  wanted  a  hun- 
dred ways  at  home,  and  that  there  would  be  quite  timo 
enough  to  go  to  a  few  shops  before  church ;  so  my  dear 
mother  yielded,  as  she  almost  always  did,  to  Caroline's 
decided  will. 

How  very  little  I  understood  what  was  passing  in  my 
own  mind  that  morning  !  At  the  time  it  seemed  as  if  I 
was  in  a  perplexing  dream,  struggling  to  retain  certain 
feelings  which  were  constantly  escaping  from  me.  I  liked 
seeing  the  town  full ;  and  I  was  interested  in  going  into 
the  shops,  and  hearing  orders  given  for  unusual  things, 
and  I  felt  a  consciousness  of  being  noticed  as  about  to 
take  part  in  a  ceremony  in  which  every  one  I  met  was  in- 
terested ;  my  white  dress  and  straw  bonnet,  with  new 
white  ribbons,  marking  me  out  as  one  of  the  children  to 
be  confirmed.  And  yet  in 'the  midst  of  all  this  distrac- 
tion and  even  vanity,  I  was  very  much  bent  Tipon  collect- 
ing my  thoughts,  and  sadly  distressed  when  I  found  nay- 
Belf  wandering  from  my  confirmation  vow  to  the  question, 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  29 

how  all  the  people  who  were  expected  at  luncheon  would 
manage  to  find  room  in  our  small  dining-room.  My  father 
joined  us  at  the  church-door,  and  patted  my  shoulder  affec- 
tionately, and  then  took  me  into  the  church,  and  placed 
me  where  he  could  see  me.  I  hoped  I  should  have  been 
quiet  there "  at  least,  but  I  was  not  j  the  same  confusion 
of  ideas  followed  me,  and  the  service  was,  what  the  pre- 
paration had  been,  a  struggle  in  which  I  believed  myself 
utterly  to  have  failed.  Yet,  no, — I  will  not  say  that  en- 
tirely. Even  then,  though  grievously  vexed  with  myself, 
something  in  my  own  heart  told  me  that  I  had  not  failed. 
I  was  in  earnest,  heartily  in  earnest.  I  had  entered  upon 
the  battle  of  life,  and  I  was  resolved,  through  God's  as- 
sistance, that,  cost  what  it  might,  I  would  bear  myself 
bravely  to  the  end. 

Doubtless  strength  was  then  given  to  that  feeble  but 
steadfast  resolve,  however  little  I  could  at  the  moment 
perceive  it. 

My  father  and  mother  walked  home  with  me.  Num- 
bers of  persons  came  up  to  us,  and  I  was  asked  again  and 
again  whether  I  had  been  confirmed ;  the  inquiry  being 
generally  followed  by  the  hope  that  my  mother  and  sisters 
would  be  at  Mrs.  Blair's  party.  I  kept  close  to  my  mo- 
ther's side,  and  was  very  silent,  and  tried  to  say  over  to 
myself  part  of  the  119th  Psalm,  which  I  had  lately  been 
endeavouring  to  learn  ;  but  I  think  I  envied  my  sisters 
a  little,  and  felt  as  if  they  were  more  free  to  do  as  they 
chose  than  myself. 

When  we  reached  home  my  father  and  mother  gave 
me  a  kiss,  and  said  they  liked  going  to  church  with  me, 
and  that  they  were  sure  I  should  be  a  good  girl ;  and 
then  my  father  strolled  into  the  garden  to  see  who  was 
coming  up  the  road,  and  my  mother  went  to  the  dining- 
room  to  observe  how  the  luncheon  had  progressed  during 
her  absence.  The  house-bell  rang  fourteen  times  in  the 
course  of  the  following  half  hour.  Herbert  couuted  the 
number,  and  would  have  come  to  my  room  to  tell  me  of 
it  if  Hester  had  allowed  him.  But  she  had  constituted 
herself  my  guardian,  and  was  determined,  she  said,  that  I 
should  not  be  teased.  So  I  was  allowed  to  remain  by 
myself,  and  when  luncheon  was  ready,  and  my  father  sent 


30  «       THE   EXPERIENCE   ©F   LITE. 

to  ine  to  come  down,  Hester  carried  liim  a  petition  that 
I  might  have  some  cold  chicken  taken  up  to  me,  and  pre- 
sently brought  it  to  me  herself,  and  spread  a  cloth  on  a 
little  table,  and  waited  upon  me  as  carefully  and  silently 
as  if  I  had  been  really  her  mistress.  At  other  times  she 
would  have  talked  and  laughed  incessantly  ;  for  she  was 
the  merriest-hearted  child  I  ever  met  with,  but  she  had 
infinite  tact,  and  saw  in  a  moment  that  it  was  my  wish  to 
be  quiet.  I  am  afraid  it  was  a  wish  of  duty  more  than 
inclination.  I  should  have  liked  very  much  to  see  the 
luncheon,  and  I  thought  to  myself  several  times  what  a 
cheerful  party  there  must  be  down  stairs,  but  I  felt  that 
it  would  do  me  harm  to  be  with  them,  for  it  would  un- 
tone  my  mind,  and  I  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  placing 
myself  voluntarily  in  the  way  of  temptation. 

That  one  slight  self-denial  I  have  often  thought  upon 
with  great  gratitude  ;  because  I  am  sure  its  effects  were 
not  slight.  It  gave  me  what,  I  suspect,  we  all  want  more 
almost  than  any  thing  else  at  the  beginning  of  life — a 
.consciousness  of  moral  strength;  and  with  strength  came 
hope  and  happiness.  I  went  down  stairs  when  luncheon 
was  over  ;  my  father  wished  it ;  but  I  had  set  myself 
apart  in  my  own  mind,  by  my  hour's  solitude,  and  the  im- 
pression remained  with  me  a^  a  safeguard,  when  I  was 
obliged  to  return  to  common  life.  Our  visitors  did  not 
stay  very  late.  The  greater  number  had  several  miles  to 
go  before  they  reached  home.  One  elderly  lady,  however, 
remained  at  my  mother's  request.  She  was  engaged  to 
be  at  Mrs.  Blair's  party,  and  having  been  offered  a  seat 
in  a  friend's  carriage  had  come  into  the  town  early,  and 
did  not  quite  know  what  to  do  with  herself  all  the  after- 
noon. She  was  a  cheerful,  talkative  person,  very  good- 
natured,  and  not  requiring  any  effort  for  her  entertain- 
ment. If  she  had  been  at  all  stiff,  I  really  think  my  mo- 
ther would  never  have  summoned  courage  to  press  her  to 
stay,  for  she  was  quite  tired  herself  with  the  unusual  ef- 
forts of  the  luncheon  party,  and  extremely  nervous  at  the 
prospect  of  the  evening. 

Miss  Cleveland  saw  this,  and  would  not  let  her  remain 
in  the  drawing-room  to  talk  and  be  civil,  as  she  said,  but 
Bent  her  away  to  her  own  room  to  rest.     "  Sarah  and  I 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  31 

shall  be  very  good  company  for  each  other,"  she  added, 
much  to  my  surprise,  and  a  little  to  my  horror,  and  iny 
mother  smiled,  and  told  me  to  take  great  care  of  Miss 
Cleveland,  and  make  her  quite  comfortable  ;  and  accept- 
ing the  permission  given  her,  went  away.  "  So,  my  de^r, 
you  have  been  confirmed,"  said  Miss  Cleveland,  com- 
mencing the  conversation,  when  my  mother  had  gone. 
She  said  it  in  such  a  merry  voice  I  began  to  feel  as  if 
confirmation  was  the  easiest,  most  cheerful  duty  I  had 
ever  been  called  upon  to  take  part  in ;  and  when  I  looked 
up  there  were  a  pair  of  little  sparkling  black  eyes  fixed 
upon  me,  forming  such  a  curious  contrast  to  a  faded  com- 
plexion, and  some  large,  stiff,  flaxen  curls,  that  I  felt  an 
almost  irresistible  inclination  to  laugh.  "  There  were  a 
good"  many  people  at  church,  I  dare  say,"  continued  Miss 
Cleveland.  "  I  remember  quite  well  when  I  was  con- 
firmed, it  was  the  18th, — I  recollect  exactly, — because  of 
Anna  Strong's  birthday — the  18tli  of  September,  seven- 
teen hundred  and ,  but   I  must  not  tell  tales  upon 

myself,  my  dear :  when  you  are  as  old  as  I  am,  I  hope 
you  will  know  how  to  keep  your  own  counsel  cleverly." 
I  had  listened  with  a  hope  of  eliciting  some  interesting 
facts,  respecting  Miss  Cleveland's  early  history,  but  she 
was  satisfied  at  having  fixed  the  date,  and  rushed  away 
from  the  subject  at  a  right  angle,  tinder  the  fear,  I  suppose, 
of  exhausting  it.  Mrs.  Blair's  ball  was  the  next  topic, 
and  on  this  she  was  more  communicative.  She  told  me 
what  I  did  not  know  before,  that  Mrs.  Blair  and  she  were 
distant  cousins — Clevelands  both  of  them ;  a  very  good 
family,  a  Yorkshire  family,  old  friends  of  the  Vaughans. 
This  was  an  interesting  piece  of  information,  for  I  had  always 
had  a  romantic  notion  of  my  mother's  family,  perhaps  from 
having  heard  so  little  about  them.  My  mother  being  the 
youngest,  had  been  kept  in  the  nursery  almost  till  the 
time  of  her  marriage,  and  had  never  had  much  intercourse 
with  her  sisters,  who  were  considerably  older,  and  had 
married  long  before  her.  Miss  Cleveland  was  full  of 
anecdotes,  very  small  ones,  neither  very  clever  nor  very 
exciting,  but  amusing  to  a  girl  not  quite  sixteen,  who 
liked  to  hear  the  least  details  concerning  the  daily  life  of 
her  unknown  relations.     After  she  had  described  to  me 


32  THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE. 

the  particularity«of  my  grandmother,  which  I  had  som6 
times  heard  my  mother  mention,  and  the  misdeeds  of 
some  of  my  uncles,  and  the  virtues  of  my  aunts,  who  she 
informed  me  had  all  been  her  very  particular  friends,  I 
ventured  to  inquire  whether  she  ever  saw  any  thing  of 
them  now  :  No,  she  replied,  very  seldom,  sadly  seldom. 
After  Sir  William's  (my  grandfather's)  death,  the  family 
had  been  so  broken  up.  The  present  Sir  William  kept 
very  much  to  himself,  and  Mrs.  Eversham,  the  eldest  sis- 
ter, was  in  India,  and  Mrs.  Dixon  was  in  Scotland ;  and 
Mrs.  Colston,  who  was  a  widow,  had  such  bad  health. 
No,  she  never  saw  any  thing  of  them  now,  but  she  often 
regretted  it,  and  she  liked  of  all  things  to  come  and  have 
an  hour's  chat  with  my  mother  about  old  times.  Some- 
times she  had  almost  made  up  her  mind  to  ask  Mrs.  Col- 
ston to  come  and  see  her,  but  she  did  not  know  how  it 
was,  she  was  so  busy,  and  had  such  numbers  of  engage- 
ments, she  never  could  find  the  right  time.  '■  But  I  think, 
I  do  really  think  I  shall ;  yes,  I  am  nearly  sure  I  shall," 
she  added,  the  smile  upon  her  lips  spreading  itself  like  a 
sunbeam  over  her  face.  There  was  a  pause.  Miss  Cleve- 
land seemed  to  be  maturing  some  vast  project,  whilst  her 
usually  cheerful-looking  features  contracted  into  an  ex- 
pression of  grave  thought.  I  ventured  presently  to  ob- 
serve that  it  was  a  pity  my  aunt  Colston  had  no  children. 
•'Yes,''  and  Miss  Cleveland  shook  her  head  ominously; 
"  it  is  a  great  pity,  my  dear,  a  pity  in  more  ways  than 
one.  People  say  she  is  quite  devoted  to  that  niece  of  her 
husband's, — that  Horatia  Gray."  I  repeated  the  name 
involuntarily,  with  an  accent  of  surprise :  I  did  not  re- 
member ever  to  have  heard  it  before.  Miss  Cleveland 
looked  at  me,  as  if  doubting  whether  my  ignorance  were 
real  or  feigned,  and  then,  after  a  short  consideration,  con- 
tinued, "  Ah !  my  dear,  I  see  how  it  is  ;  your  mother  ia 
a  wise  woman,  she  does  not  trust  little  folks  with  affairs 
that  don't  concern  them.  I  dare  say  Horatia  Gray  is  a 
very  clever  girl,  and  people  know  best  how  to  manage 
their  own  concerns ;  but  I  must  say  that  I  like  justice.  I 
like  relations  to  be  considered  in  due  order  :  Horatia 
Gray  is  no  relation  of  Ann  Colston's,  it  is  quite  untrue  to 
call  her  so ;  she  is  nothing  in  the  world  but  a  sort  of 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  33 

8tep-niece  of  the  Major's  ;  and  he  never  took  to  her,  or 
knew  any  thing  about  her,  for  her  connections  were  quite 
beneath  him.  If  you  reckon  in  that  way,  we  are  all  de- 
scended from  Adam."  After  delivering  this  wonderfully 
clear  oration  upon  the*  subject  of  relationship.  Miss  Cleve- 
land put  on  her  spectacles,  and  took  up  her  work ;  and, 
as  I  was  just  then  called  out  of  the  room,  the  subject  was 
dropped,  and  was  not  again  resumed. 

My  recollections  of  that  evening,  Mrs.  Blair's  evening, 
as  we  used  to  call  it,  are  very  vivid.  I  can  fancy  now, 
that  I  see  before  me  my  mother,  in  her  handsome  figured 
silk,  of  a  pale  dove  colour,  and  my  sisters  in  their  white 
muslin  dresses,  with  pink  sashes,  and  white  roses  in  their 
hair  ;  and  Miss  Cleveland,  with  a  wonderful  cap,  which 
spread  itself  out  in  wide  wings,  on  each  side  of  her  head, 
and  a  splendid  salmon-coloured  satin  gown,  which  I  felt 
persuaded  must  originally  have  been  intended  for  a  pre- 
sentation at  court.  It  was  a  complete  romance  to  me  to 
look  at  them ;  it  seemed  as  if  they  were  all  about  to  start 
on  some  unknown  adventure.  I  had  before,  me  a  bright, 
though  confused  imagination  of  a  very  splendid  room,  and 
dazzling  lights,  and  brilliant  colours,  and  of  Joanna  as 
the  heroine  of  the  night,  who  was  to  excite  universal  ad- 
miration. I  do  not  think  that  I  had  any  wish  to  go  with 
them  ;  gaiety  of  that  kind  was  never  very  attractive  to 
me,  for  I  was  of  a  shy  disposition,  and  conscious  of  being 
very  plain.  Besides,  it  was  more  in  accordance  with  the 
solemnity  of  the  morning  that  I  should  be  the  Cinderella, 
waiting  upon  others,  than  the  sharer  in  their  pleasures. 
I  was  contented  to  be  allowed  to  stay  in  the  room  whilst 
my  sisters  were  dressing ;  and  hold  the  pins,  and  thread 
needles,  and  go  about  with  messages.  And  it  was  not 
till  my  mother  gave  me  a  parting  kiss,  when  the  fly  was 
announced,  and  told  me  I  looked  pale  and  good  for  no- 
thing, and  had  better  go  to  bed  early,  that  I  remembered 
I  had  been  standing  and  running  about  for  the  last  hour 
and  a  half,  and  was  very  tired,  and  had  a  terrible  head- 
ache. "  Good-bye,  Sarah,"  said  Caroline,  as  she  was 
about  to  follow  my  father  and  Miss  Cleveland  to  the  car- 
riage. She  looked  as  thoroughly  self-possessed  as. if  she 
had  been  accustomed  to  excitement  for  years.  "  Good 
2* 


84  THE    EXPERIENCE   OF    LIFE. 

night,  dear,"  said  Joanna,  giving  me  a  kiss,  "  we  are  so 
much  obliged  to  you  for  helping  us."  My  brother  Vaugh 
an,  who  considered  himself  a  man,  though  he  was  a  year 
younger  than  Caroline,  patted  me  on  the  shoulder,  called 
me  '•  Cenerentola,"  and,  passing  his  hand  through  his  hair, 
told  me  to  go  and  fetch  his  great  coat,  as  he  and  my 
father  intended  to  walk.  They  were  gone  ;  the  house  was 
very  quiet ;  for  Herbert  and  Hester  had  been  sent  to 
bed,  and  Reginald  was  spending  the  evening  with  a 
school-fellow.  I  was  alone,  with  the  two  ends  of  un- 
snuffed  candles  testifying  to  the  economy  of  the  house- 
hold ;  the  unreplenished  fire,  which  ''  would  do  very  well 
for  Miss  Sarah  till  bed-time  ;"  the  undrawn  curtains,  and 
the  comfortless-looking  table,  upon  which  stood  an  ink- 
stand, a  few  books,  two  or  three  empty  coffee  cups,  and 
a  plate  with  a  stray  slice  of  very  thin  bread  and  butter. 
r  sat  myself  down  in  an  easy  chair,  and  leant  my  head 
upon  my  hand,  and  felt  very  unhappy.  It  was  not  only 
that  I  was  solitary,  that  my  head  ached,  that  the  excite- 
ment of  the  day  had  been  too  much  for  me.  Doubtless 
these  circumstances  all  contributed  to  depress  my  spirits, 
but  there  was  a  wretchedness  above,  and  beyond  all ;  a 
sort  of  presentiment  that  the  present  hour  was  the  type 
of  my  future  life.  Sickly,  plain,  and  indifi'erently  edu- 
cated, what  better  could  I  expect  than  to  live  in  shade, 
whilst  others  glittered  in  sufishine  ?  to  what  duties  could 
I  look  forward,  except  those  which  were  scarcely  deemed 
worthy  of  thanks  ?  What  pleasures  could  I  anticipate, 
bat  such  as  might  be  obtained  from  the  reflected  enjoy- 
ments of  my  more  fortunate  sisters  ?  The  candles  burnt 
more  and  more  dimly,  the  fire  sank  lower  in  the  grate ;  I 
said  to  myself  that  I  would  go  to  bed ;  but  I  could  not 
summon  energy  to  move,  and  my  bed  would  not,  in  fact, 
have  been  a  resting-place ;  for  the  nervous  headache,  from 
which  I  was  suffering,  would  not,  I  knew,  allow  of  my 
sleeping  before  the  usual  time.  I  remained  in  this  state 
for  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  I  had  not  drank  tea, 
and  it  would  have  been  a  refreshment  to  have  some,  but 
a  solitary  meal  in  a  dreary  room  was  more  than  I  could 
encounter.  The  clock  struck  the  half  hour, — half-past 
tight.     Hester,  perhaps,  was  awake.     I  would  just  go  and 


THE   EXPERIENCE    Of    LIFE.  35 

give  her  a  kiss,  and  say  good  night,  and  then,  perhaps,  go 
to  bed  myself ;  but  I  had  not  quite  made  up  my  mind 
upon  this  point,  when  the  door  softly  opened,  and  Hester,  in 
her  little  night-dress  and  slippers,  with  a  shawl  thrown  round 
her  shoulders,  stole  into  the  room.  "  Mammy,  dear,"  she 
said,  using  the  term  of  endearment  which  she  had  given 
me  ever  since  I  began  teaching  her  her  lessons,  "  don't  be 
angry,  Nurse  said  I  might  come ;  please  don't  be  here  all 
alone ;  Nurse  says  your  head  aches."  I  took  her  up  in 
my  lap,  and,  half  scolding  her  for  not  being  in  bed, 
wrapped  her  shawl  more  closely  round  her,  &,nd  covered 
her  feet  with  my  dress ;  and  then,  leaning  back  in  my 
chair,  rested  her  head  upon  my  shoulder,  and  looked  at 
her  innocent  face  with  an  indescribable  sense  of  consola- 
tion. She  was  not  a  pretty  child  to  strangers ;  her  fea- 
tures were  not  sufficiently  regular,  but  she  was  V€ry  pretty 
to  me.  It  might  be  that  the  responsibility  which  I  always 
felt  about  her,  the  idea  that  she  was  a  trust  especially 
confided  to  me,  gave  her  a  peculiar  charm  in  my  eyes  ;  but 
I  never  in  those  days  thought  that  any  face  could  have 
the  expression  which  those  deep,  dark-grey  eyes,  with  their 
long  eyelashes,  gave  to  Hester ;  and  her  smile,  which  came 
and  went  like  a  sunbeam  on  a  cloudy  day,  could  make  my 
heart  thrill  with  pleasure  even  in .  its  most  gloomy  nio- 
ments.  She  lay  with  her  little  hand  in  mine,  and  said 
she  was  so  comfortable,  might  she  only  stay  with  me  ? 
But  I  could  not  consent,  it  was  not  good  for  her  ;  and  I 
told  her  she  must  go  to  bed  and  sleep.  "  And  leave  you 
here  alone,  without  your  tea,  and  a  headache.  Mammy, 
dear,  it  was  very  naughty  of  them  all  to  go  away."  I  put 
my  hand  before  her  mouth  to  stop  her,  and  told  her  no 
one  was  naughty,  it  was  nobody's  fault,  it  could  not  be 
helped.  The' last  words  seemed  to  strike  her.  "Can't 
be  helped !"  she  repeated,  and  she  sat  up  and  looked 
round  her.  "  Must  you  sit  here  and  be  miserable  ?"  I 
could  scarcely  help  laughing  at  the  energy  of  her  tone, 
but  again  I  repeated  that  it  could  not  be  helped  ;  it  was 
not  worth  while  to  give  trouble  to  the  servants.  "  But 
let  me  do  it,  let  me  help  you ;"  and,  before  I  could  stop 
her,  she  had  sprung  from  my  lap,  and  was  standing  by  thf 
table,  looking  round  to  see  what  was  first  to  be  done, 


3b  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF    LIFE. 

The  shawl  fell  oflF  her  shoulders,  and,  as  I  wrapped  it 
round  her,  I  said,  in  a  tone  of  half  reproof,  "  It  won't  do 
Hester,  you  must  not  stay  here.  Mamma  would  not  like 
it ;  you  must  go  to  sleep,  and  I  must  be  miserable,  as 
you  call  it."  "  Must  you?"  she  again  repeated,  with  an 
air  of  strange  thoughtfulness  ;  aed,  looking  fixedly  in  my 
face,  she  said,  "  Who  told  you  you  must  ?"  My  only  re- 
ply was  a  kiss  ;  and,  lifting  her  in  my  arms,  I  carried  her 
to  the  nursery,  and  left  her  with  a  last  promise  that  I 
would  come  and  look  at  her  again,  and  say  "  quite  good 
night." 

What  a  marvellous  force  is  at  times  imparted  to  a  few 
seemingly  chance  words.  "  Must  be  miserable,"  1  said  to 
myself,  as  I  stood  once  more  alone  in  the  drawing-room. 
Was  there  really  any  must  ?  In  answer,  I  stirred  the 
fire,  snuffed  the  candles,  rang  the  bell,  and  begged  that  1 
might  have  my  tea  brought  up  directly  ;  and,  after  put- 
ting the  chairs  in  their  proper  place,  smoothing  the  table 
cover,  and  arranging  the  books,  sat  down  to  rest  in  a  com- 
fortable chair  by  a  bright  blaze,  and  felt  that,  in  spite  of 
my  headache,  there  certainly  was  no  "  must  be  miserable 
for  me,"  that  evening.  I  remember  these  trifling  inci- 
dents, because  they  were  my  first  experience  of  a  truth 
which  has  since  been  continually  brought  before  me. 
Trial,  in  some  shape  or  other,  has  followed  me  from  my 
youth,  but  there  has  been  no  "must  be  miserable."  The 
must,  if  I  believed  it  to  exist,  was  of  my  own  creation. — 
a  phantom  which  had  only  to  be  rightly  confronted,  and 
it  vanished. 

I  spent  a  really  pleasant  half  hour  by  myself,  enjoy- 
ing my  tea,  which  lessened  the  pain  in  my  head,  and 
thinking  over  all  that  had  been  going  on  in  the  day.  If 
I  could  have  put  down  my  reflections  upon  paper  they 
would,  I  suspect,  have  been  a  strange  medley.  The  con- 
firmation ought  to  have  been  uppermost,  and  I  did  really 
try  to  keep  it  so,  but  other  ideas  would  force  themselves 
upon  me: — the  luncheon,  and  Miss  Cleveland,  and  what 
my  sisters  were  doing,  and  especially  that  mysterious  Ho- 
ratia  Gray,  whose  name  had  impressed  itself  upon  my 
imagination,  as  connected  with  something  deceitful  and 
dnjustj  almost  more  because  I  had  never  heard  her  men- 


THE  EXPERIENCE   OP   LIPE.  37 

tioned  before,  than  from  any  thing  which  Miss  Cleveland 
had  told  me. 

I  determined  at  first  to  ask  my  mother  about  her  tha 
very  next  day,  but  upon  consideration  I  felt  afraid. 
There  seemed  to  be  some  family  secret,  purposely  kept 
from  us.  My  mother  did  not  converse  much  about  our 
relations,  and  this  Horatia  Gray  might  be  the  cause.  I 
thought  of  talking  to  my  sisters,  but  Joanna  was  so 
thoughtless  she  would  tell  every  one  who  came  near  her 
what  had  been  said  ;  and  Caroline  was  so  authoritative 
and  determined,  that  probably  she  would  worry  my  mother, 
and  make  her  acknowledge  more  than  she  liked.  So  I 
resolved  to  keep  my  own  counsel,  and  find  out  in  my  own 
way,  if  a  favourable  opportunity  should  offer  itself, — not 
through  Miss  Cleveland,  that  would  not  be  honourable  to 
my  mother ;  but,  by  some  means  which  I  could  feel  to  be 
right,  I  would,  if  possible,  know  Horatia  Gray's  history, 
what  she  had  done,  and  where  she  lived,  and  why  my 
aunt  Colston  was  fond  of  her  when  she  was  no  relation. 

I  am  glad  to  remember  that  in  spite  of  the  interest 
attached  to-  her,  Horatia  Gray  was  not  my  last  thought 
when  I  laid  my  head  upon  my  pillow.  Persons  who  in 
these  days  are  carefully  taught  and  directed,  might  have 
smiled  at  my  vague  efforts  at  self  discipline  :  but  I  look 
back  upon  them  with  great  gratitude,  and  can  feel  at  this 
day  the  benefit  of  some  rules  which  I  made  for  myself — 
I  scarcely  knew  why,  only  I  had  an  impression  they  were 
right. 

One  was  never  to  allow  my  mind  to  dwell  upon  any 
thing  worldly,  if  I  could  help  it,  after  I  had  said  my 
prayers.  The  resolution  was  not  in  general  very  easily 
kept,  but  the  very  endeavour  was  something,  particularly 
just  then  when  I  saw  enough  in  my  own  mind  to  make 
me  sadly  dissatisfied.  I  had  looked  forward  to  my  con- 
firmation as  an  event  which  was  to  work  some  great 
change  in  me.  I  had  risen  in  the  morning  with  the  idea 
that  the  day  was  to  be  especially  devoted  to  religion,  a 
fresh  starting  point,  as  it  were,  from  which  I  might  date 
a  succession  of  good  deeds  for  a  long  life.  The  day  had 
come  and  was  gone,  and  when  I  looked  back  upon  it,  I 
could  recollect  nothing  but  a  few  prayers,  at  the  best  very 


88  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

wandering,  a  few  wishes,  a  slight  self-denial,  lost  in  a 
crowd  of  vain,  curious,  idle  thoughts ;  and  careless,  some 
times  hasty  words. 

Was  the  next  day  to  be  like  it  ?  I  cried  myself  to 
sleep  with  disappointment  and  self-disgust,  and  longed  to 
go  back  and  be  a  child  again  with  my  confirmation  yet 
to  come. 


CHAPTER   Y. 


The  workmen's  bell,  at  six  o'clock,  woke  me  the  next 
morning.  One  of  the  chief  minor  trials  caused  by  my 
ill  health  was  that  I  never  could  rejoice  in  the  gladness 
of  the  early  sunshipe.  It  was  always  a  kind  of  mockery 
of  my  aching  limbs,  and  feverish  heavy  headache.  Still 
1  was  accustomed  to  rise  early,  for  I  had  a  great  deal  to 
do  before  breakfast.  I  was  expected  to  dress  Hester, 
and  assist  in  dressing  my  mother,  and  I  was  also  called 
upon  to  hear  Herbert  his  Latin  lesson,  that  he  might  not 
get  into  disgrace  when  he  went  to  repeat  it  to  my  father 
after  breakfast.  Besides  this,  Reginald  was  required  to 
be  at  school  in  good  time,  and  it  generally  fell  to  my  lot 
to  collect  his  books  and  hurry  him  when  he  was  likely  to 
be  late. 

It  never  entered  my  head  that  my  duties  were  harder 
than  those  of  others,  for  I  always  liked  being  useful,  and, 
generally  speaking,  was  happier,  and  I  believe  better  for 
having  a  good  deal  to  do,  and  no  time  to  think  of  being 
ill  ;  but  every  thing  certainly  was  at  cross  purposes 
that  morning.  Such  complaining,  and  lamenting,  and 
scolding  went  on !  The  house  seemed  quite  metamor- 
phosed. My  mother  rang  her  bell  to  beg  we  would  all 
be  very  quiet,  and  Reginald  immediately  contrived  to  let 
his  bag  of  school-books  roll  from  the  top  of  the  stairs  to 
the  bottom.  It  took  some  minutes  to  collect  them,  and 
he  declared  he  would  go  without  them,  and  leave  them 
for  Vaughan  to  bring  after  him  when  he  went,  as  he  was 
at  that  time  accustomed  to  do,  to  read  for  some  hours 
with  the  Rector  of  Carsdale.     Yaughan  peeped  out  of  his 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LITE.  39 

room,  evidently  just  out  of  bed,  and  in  the  very  worst  hu- 
mour for  study,  and  vowed  he  would  not  touch  them  ;  he 
was  not  going  to  read  that  morning,  and,  if  he  had  been, 
he  had  no  notion  of  being  made  a  slave  to  a  younger 
brother ;  the  assertion  being  followed  by  a  noisy  alterca- 
tion, which  frightened  Joanna  out  of  her  sleep,  and  made 
Hester  cry ;  until  at  length  the  affair  was  ended  by  an  im- 
perious command  from  my  father  that  Reginald  should 
be  off  that  moment,  or  he  would  horsewhip  him. 

So  it  went  on  during  the  early  part  of  the  day.  One 
strayed  down  after  another,  looking  pale  and  pettish,  and 
finding  fault  with  the  cold,  late  breakfast,  and  no  one 
but  myself  seemed  at  all  inclined  for  occupation.  My 
mother  really  was  very  tired,  and  lay  upon  a  sofa,  whilst 
Miss  Cleveland  sat  by  her,  netting,  and  discussing  the 
party,  and  Caroline  and  Joanna  professed  to  read  and 
copy  music  ;  every  five  minutes,  however,  leaning  back  in 
their  chairs  yawning,  and  remarking  what  a  very  pretty 
dress  Miss  Somebody  wore,  or  how  very  badly  Mr.  Some- 
body danced,  or  how  very  strange  it  was  that  Mrs,  Some- 
body-else had  not  been  present.  The  party  was  pro- 
nounced to  have  been  very  pleasant.  Joanna  had  danced 
the  whole  evening,  and  Caroline  might  have  done  so  if 
she  had  chosen  it.  There  were  a  good  many  county 
people  there,  and  they  had  been  very  agreeable,  and  par- 
ticularly civil  to  my  mother  ;  in  fact,  as  Caroline  observed, 
and  the  observation  was  seconded  by  Miss  Cleveland,  it 
was  quite  clear  that  it  would  be  our  own  fault  if  we  did 
not  have  our  choice  of  the  best  society  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. 

My  mother  looked  up  at  this  speech,  and,  with  what 
for  her  was  a  slight  tone  of  satire,  asked  what  was  meant 
by  the  best  society.  "  The  best !  oh,  every  one  knows 
what  the  best  society  means,"  answered  Miss  Cleveland 
hurriedly  ;  whilst  Caroline  added,  decidedly,  '"  That  which 
is  not  to  be  found  in  Carsdale."  "  It  seems  to  me,  my 
dear,"  said  my  mother,  in  her  very  low,  quiet  voice,  "  that 
Carsdale  society  is  just  as  good  as  any  other  as  far  as  we 
are  concerned."  ''■  My  dear  Fanny !"  exclaimed  Miss 
Cleveland,  in  horror.  "My  dear  mamma!"  repeated, my 
Bisters  in  one  breath.     "  Just  as  good,"  continued  my 


40  THE    EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE. 

"nother  firmly.  "  Do  you  mean,"  inquired  Miss  Clevc 
land,  as  she  allowed  her  netting  to  fall  upon  the  floor,  and 
bent  forward  eagerly,  "  that  Mrs.  Travers  and  the  Miss 
Simpsons,  and  old  Mr.  Lawson  and  Major  and  Mrs.  Dor- 
mer, are  as  valuable  acquaintances  for  your  girls  as  Sir 
Henry  Greeson's  family,  or  Colonel  Lorimer's,  or  Lady 
Emily  Rivers."  "  We  will  put  aside  Lady  Emily  Rivers," 
replied  my  mother ;  "  I  should  like  my  children  to  know 
her.  As  to  the  others,  I  really  see  no  difference  between 
them  and  the  Carsdale  people,  except  that  they  have 
houses  in  the  country  and  the  others  have  houses  in  the 
town."  "Oh!  then,  I  understand, — I  perceive,"  said 
Miss  Cleveland,  turning  round  to  my  sisters  With  a  mean- 
ing smile,  and  twinkling  her  bright,  little,  round  eyes, 
"  your  mamma  is  ambitious  for  you,  my  dears ;  nothing 
under  a  title  will  do  I  see.  Well,  perhaps  she  is  right ; 
better  soar  high  at  once."  "Perhaps  it  would  be  better 
not  to  soar  at  all,"  was  my  mother's  answer,  spoken  with 
unusual  energy.  "  My  children  are  ladies  by  birth,  and 
I  wish  them  to  be  ladies  in  feeling ;  they  will  never  be  so 
if  they  try  to  be  anything  but  what  they  are.  My  dears, 
you  have  no  rank,  and  you  are  not  likely  to  have  any 
money,  and  you  live  in  a  country  town  ;  that  is  your  posi- 
tion, and  nothing  that  you  can  do  is  likely  to  alter  it." 
"  Yet  you  wish  them  to  know  Lady  Emily  Rivers,"  said 
Miss  Cleveland,  looking  utterly  bewildered.  "  I  wish 
them  to  know  any  one  who  is  good  and  unpretending," 
said  my  mother.  Her  head  fell  baCk  languidly  on  the 
sofa,  and  to  my  great  disappointment  the  conversation 
dropped. 

I  ha(J  never  heard  my  mother  express  herself  so  openly 
before  ;  and  when  I  thought  over  what  she  had  said,  I 
could  not  understand  it.  She  was  so  reserved,  and  so  sel- 
dom made  remarks  upon  other  people,  that  it  was  difl&cult 
to  know  whom  she  liked  or  disliked  ;  yet  I  was  nearly  sure 
that  she  did  not  wish  us  to  see  many  persons,  or  to  join  in 
the  tea-drinking  parties,  which  were  frequent  in  Carsdale ; 
and  we  had  never  formed  what  could  be  called  an  inti- 
macy with  any  young  people  of  our  own  age  in  the  place. 
Joanna  had  tried  frequently  ;  but  my  mother  professed  to 
oave  a  dread  of  school  friendships,  and  the  acquaintances 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  41 

vhich  my  sisters  made  at  school  were  never  kept  up  at 
home.  I  had  often  heard  this  accounted  for  as  the  conse- 
quence of  my  mother's  exclusiveness.  People  had  hinted 
it  before  me  when  they  little  supposed  I  could  hear,  or  if 
I  did  hear,  could  comprehend.  It  was  sometimes  called 
pride ;  and  I  was  rather  pleased  with  the  term.  It  re- 
minded me  that  my  mother's  family  was  an  old  one,  and 
that  my  grandfather  was  a  baronet ;  and  I  had  grown  up 
insensibly  with  the  idea  that  we  were  rather  out  of  our 
place  in  Carsdale,  and  ought  to  mix  more  with  what  were 
called  county  people ;  and  sometimes  I  tried  to  persuade 
myself  that  as  we  did  not  live  actually  in  the  town,  and 
had  a  little  garden  attached  to  our  house,  and  a  lawn,  wq 
had  a  fair  right  to  be  on  an  equality  with  them.  I  did 
not  conjecture,  like  Miss  Cleveland,  that  my  mother  was 
ambitious ;  in  fact,  I  was  too  young  really  to  think  upon 
the  subject ;  but  I  certainly  did  believe  that  she  was  very 
particular,  and  would  prefer  the  society  of  persons  of  rank 
and  fortune  if  she  could  have  it. 

The  few  observations,  however,  which  she  had  just 
made,  set  at  nought  all  my  preconceived  notions.  That 
county  people  and  town  people  should  be  placed  together, 
and  Lady  Emily  Rivers  excepted  only  because  she  was 
good  and  unpretending,  was  a  classification  which  dis- 
turbed my  ideas  of  the  orders  of  society  as  much  as  the 
natural  system  in  botany  must  confound  the  ancient  fol- 
lowers of  Linnaeus.  I  was  pondering  upon  this  subject 
whilst  working  diligently  at  a  new  frock  which  I  was 
making  for  Hester,  when  my  father  came  into  the  room 
with  a  newspaper  in  his  hand.  He  read  the  "  Times'* 
every  day  as  a  matter  of  regular  business,  when  Herbert's 
lessons  were  over.  He  wanted  the  "  Times"  of  the  day 
before,  he  said ;  where  was  it  ?  There  was  an  advertise- 
ment in  it  which  he  wished  to  see.  The  "Times"  had 
been  sent  to  aunt  Sarah ;  it  always  went  to  her  after  my 
father  had  finished  it.  He  looked  annoyed,  and  my 
mother  said,  half  laughingly,  "  It  would  be  a  good  occupa- 
tion for  you,  my  dear,  to  walk  into  Carsdale,  and  ask  for 
it ;  you  have  not  seen  aiint  Sarah  this  week."  •'  No,  im- 
nossible."  He  always  said  "  no"  first,  by  a  sort  of  instinct, 
but  it  ended  in  my  mother's  finding  a  number  of  commis- 


42  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

sions  to  be  executed,  all  of  importance,  which  induced  him 
to  think  it  worth  his  while  to  exert  himself,  and  he  agreed 
to  go  if  I  might  go  with  him. 

Of  course  we  took  the  short  way:  a  short  way  is 
always  preferred,  whether  one  is  in  a  hurry  or  not ;  it  is  a 
victory  gained  over  time,  if  not  over  anything  else.  It 
led  us  across  some  fields  into  the  outskirts  of  Carsdale, 
amongst  new  red-brick  cottages^  in  rows,  with  scraps  of  un- 
tidy gardens  and  broken  palings  before  them ;  and  then 
we  turned  into  a  narrow  lane,  one  I  had  not  often  been 
through  before, — it  was  another  short  way.  There  were 
tall,  old,  dingy  houses  on  one  side ;  on  the  other  a  high 
wall,  inclosing  a  garden,  the  trees  of  which  were  seen  be- 
yond. We  were  about  half-way  through  the  lane,  when  a 
number  of  oxen  were  driven  into  it.  They  looked  very 
wild,  and  there  was  only  a  boy  with  them.  I  seized  my 
father's  arm,  and  seeing  I  was  frightened,  he  stopped  at  a 
closed  green  door  at  the  corner  of  the  wall,  and  opening 
it  by  a  private  key  entered  my  grandfather's  garden. 
Twice  before  in  my  life  I  had  been  there,  and  only  twice, 
and  that  several  years  before  ;  but  I  was  not  likely  to  for- 
get it.  The  broad  walk  under  a  row  of  lime-trees,  the 
hedge  of  laurels  dividing  the  flower-beds  and  the  kitchen 
garden,  and  the  grim,  prison-looking  building  at  the  fur- 
ther end  of  the  inclosure,  were  all  in  their  several  ways 
unlike  anything  I  had  seen  elsewhere.  My  father  stood 
at  the  door  looking  into  the  lane.  One  of  the  animals 
was  becoming  unmanageable,  and  the  people  who  were 
near  began  to  run.  My  father  shut  the  gate  ;  and,  after 
a  moment's  thought,  said  we  would  go  through  the  garden, 
and  pass  out  the  other  way,  so  we  turned  down  the  lime- 
walk,  and  walked  towards  the  house. 

A  strange,  quiet  look  it  had,  all  shut  in  to  itself ;  one 
could  have  fancied  oneself  far  away  from  a  town.  The 
windows  were  very  high  and  narrow  ;  one  or  two  had  bars 
across  them.  When  I  asked  "why,"  my  father  said, 
shortly,  that  it  was  for  fear  of  an  accident ;  the  windows 
belonged  to  my  grandfather's  apartments,  and  once  he  had 
nearly  fallen  out.  I  inquired  if  lie  was  there  still.  "  Of 
course,"  was  the  reply,  and  my  father  hurried  on  before 
me.     We  entered  the  house  through  a  glass  door.     It 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  43 

opened  into  a  little  ante-room ;  the  walls  were  stuccoed 
of  a  faded  sea-green  colour ;  the  floor  was  covered  with 
old  matting ;  green  baize  folding-doors  shut  out  the  rest 
of  th^  house.  My  father  opened  them  rather  cautiously. 
I  saw  that  there  was  a  small  hall  beyond,  with  a  broad 
oak  staircase  on  one  side.  Just  then  we  heard  a  door 
shut,  and  there  was  a  sound  of  footsteps.  My  father  told 
me  to  wait  in  the  ante-room :  he  was  going  to  speak  to 
uncle  Ralph,  but  he  would  return  directly.  It  must  have 
been  my  uncle  whom  we  had  heard  approaching,  for  be- 
fore my  father  closed  the  folding-doors  again,  I  recognised 
his  voice.  My  father  and  he  said  a  few  words  in  an  un- 
der tone,  and  then  they  left  the  hall,  and  the  sound  of 
their  footsteps  died  away  in  the  distance.  There  was  a 
deep  stillness  when  they  were  gone,  broken  only  by  an  old 
•clock  which  struck  the  quarters  in  a  harsh  husky  tone.  I 
wondered  why  it  should  trouble  itself,  as  there  seemed  no 
one  near  to  listen.  The  spiders  I  saw  had  spun  their 
webs  over  the  ceilings, — doubtless  no  one  had  thought  it 
worth  while  to  demolish  them  ;  the  birds  flew  past  the 
window,  but  not  one  paused  on  the  wing  ; — they  must 
have  known  that  in  that  place  no  hand  would  be  open  to 
provide  for  them.  What  a  strange,  low  moaning  that  was 
which  came  to  my  ear  !  I  thought  at  first  it  was  fancy 
— the  wailing  of  the  wind,  a  noise  in  the  street ;  but  the 
day  was  calm  and  clear,  and  the  murmur  of  the  busy  little 
town  would  not  so  rise  and  die  away.  I  heard  it  still, — 
louder,  more  prolonged ;  the  moaning  as  of  some  one  in 
pain ;  it  came  from  above,  from  a  room  which  must  be 
nearly  over  the  hall.  I  thought  I  heard  some  one  mov- 
ing,— at  least  I  was  sure  there  was  the  tap  as  of  a  stick 
upon  the  floor,  followed  by  its  fall ;  and  then  again  ano- 
ther and  a  louder  moan ;  and  pushing  open  the  folding- 
doors,  I  rushed  up  the  stairs.  When  I  reached  the  top 
I  was  in  a  large  lobby,  into  which  several  doors  opened, 
and  guided  by  the  sound  I  opened  that  which  was  oppo- 
site the  head  of  the  staircase.  It  admitted  me  into  an 
empty  bedroom,  but  one  which,  from  the  articles  lying  on 
the  dressing-table,  seemed  as  if  it  was  in  daily  use,  and  I 
guessed  at  once  it  must  be  my  grandfather's.  I  was 
frightened  then ;  partly  from  a  sense  of  intruding  where  I 


44  THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE. 

had  no  right  to  be,  partly  from  the  natural  awe  which  m^ 
poor  grandfather's  state  of  imbecility  had  long  tended  to 
produce.  Yet  I  could  not  go  back,  for  the  moaning  still 
continued,  though  fainter  and  less  frequent,  proceeding, 
apparently,  from  a  room  within  the  bedroom.  The  door 
which  separated  the  two  apartments  was  closed.  I  knock- 
ed, but  received  no  answer.  In  my  simplicity  I  called 
"  grandpapa,"  and  waited,  hoping  to  be  told  I  might  go 
in  ;  but  the  moaning  had  ceased  then,  and  all  was  silent 
save  the  beating  of  my  own  heart,  which  in  its  nervous 
pulsation  seemed  to  bear  away  all  my  remaining  presence 
of  mind.  I  turned  away,  not  daring  to  enter ;  but  my 
foot  slipped,  and  I  fell  to  the  ground,  and  as  I  rose  up  I  in- 
voluntarily pushed  the  door  open.  My  grandfather,  for  I 
knew  it  must  be  he,  was  resting  in  a  large  arm-chair,  with 
his  back  towards  me  ;  his  head  was  leaning  against  the 
side  of  the  chair,  and  upon  the  ground  lay  his  stick.  I 
drew  near  ;  he  did  not  turn  or  move.  "  Grandpapa,"  I 
said  very  softly ;  and  I  stood  at  the  back  of  the  chair. 
I  did  not  think  he  was  asleep, — I  did  not  think  anything, — 
but  I  felt.  '•  Are  you  ill,  grandpapa  ?"  I  repeated  ;  and 
I  advanced  a  few  steps  nearer  to  the  front.     I  was  going 

to  touch  his  hand,  but  my  eye  fell  upon  his  face 

They  say  that  my  scream  of  terror  rang  through  the 
whole  house.  When  they  came  to  my  assistance  they 
found  me  stretched  upon  the  floor,  cold  and  insensible  as 
the  lifeless  form  of  him  whose  spirit  had  thus  suddenly 
departed  to  the  unseen  world. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

Op  what  immediately  followed  that  terrible  shock  I  can 
tell  but  little.  My  nerves  were  so  completely  shaken  by 
it,  that  for  weeks  no  one  dared  to  approach  the  subject. 
Part  of  the  time  I  kept  to  my  bed,  and  I  believe  I  was 
threatened  with  a  serious  illness.  I  remember  that  I 
could  not  bear  to  be  left  alone  for  an  instant,  and  that  my 
mother  slept  on  a  sofa  by  my  bedside,  ready  to  soothe  me 
at  any  moment,  for  my  brain  was  haunted  by  images  oi 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  45 

terror,  and  whenever  I  fell  asleep  I  woke  in  agitation  and 
alarm.  This  over-excitement  diminished  gradually,  at 
least  its  external  symptoms  did.  Care  and  kindness,  that 
devoted  kindness  which  a  mother's  love  alone  seems  capa- 
ble of  bestowing,  strengthened  my  nerves,  and  enabled 
me  to  exercise  more  self-command. 

I  was  considered  pretty  well,  as  well  as  usual,  and  I 
came  down  stairs,  and  mixed  with  the  family,  and  returned 
to  my  ordinary  employments ;  no  one  at  home  guessed 
that  any  more  lasting  effects  woul^  follow  from  all  I  had 
gone  through.  The  medical  man  who  attended  me,  said 
indeed  that!  was  growing  thin,  and  ordered  me  tonics, 
and  made  me  eat  meat  twice  a-day ;  and  my  mother  took 
care  that  I  should  attend  to  his  orders,  but  no  one  really 
was  anxious  about  me.  A  person  who  is  always  ill  does 
not  excite  anxiety.  I  cannot  wonder  that  I  was  so  soon 
passed  by ;  there  was  enough  going  on  at  the  time  to  oc- 
cupy the  thoughts  of  every  one. 

My  grandfather's  death  was  a  great  event.  It  brought 
to  a  point  a  maze  of  unsettled  questions,  in  which  a  large 
number  of  persons  were  interested,  and  it  was  conjectured 
that  it  would  produce*  some  great  change  in  the  family 
circumstances,  which  would  raise  us  from  a  mere  sufficien- 
cy to  competency,  if  not  affluence.  The  first  thing  I  fully 
understood  when  I  left  my  room,  and  was  considered  equal 
to  taking  part  in  all  that  went  on,  was,  that  although  my 
grandfather's  will  had  caused  some  annoyance  and  disap- 
pointment, yet  we  were  certainly  richer  than  before,  and 
were  therefore  not  likely  to  remain  at  Castle  House.  My 
father,  it  seemed,  had  been  looking  at  a  good-sized  family 
villa,  situated  on  the  outskirts  of  a  hamlet  belonging  to 
the  village  of  Hurst,  about  two  miles  and  a  half  from 
Carsdale,  and  if  moderate  terms  could  be  obtained  we 
were  likely  in  due  course  of  time  to  remove  there,  Caro- 
line and  Joanna  were  in  ecstacies  at  the  prospect,  and 
even  my  father  was  roused  to  eagerness  whenever  the  sub- 
ject was  approached.  My  mother  was  the  only  person 
who  held  back.  She  could  not  see,  she  said,  the  wisdom 
of  any  sudden  move.  Castle  House  was  sufficiently  large, 
and  with  a  family  growing  up,  and  expenses  certain  to  in- 
crease, she  could  not  but  think  it  better  for  us  to  remain 


46  THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE. 

where  we  were  for  a  few  years  at  least.  Let  Vaughan  and 
Heginald  be  sent  to  college,  and  make  their  way  there  ; 
and  let  our  accounts  with  the  bank  be  brought  to  a  close, 
so  that  we  might  clearly  know  what  our  prospects  were ; 
then,  if  it  was  thought  desirable,  she  should  not  object  to 
a  change ;  but  in  the  uncertainty  in  which  all  things  were 
as  yet,  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  look  upon  the  idea 
favourably.  My  father  acquiesced  in  theory  ;  in  practice 
he  went  every  day  to  East  Side  (our  new  home  that  was 
to  be),  planned  new  windows,  new  fences,  a  new  back  en- 
trance, and  a  greenhouse,  and  came  home  to  sleep  away 
the  evening  in  his  easy  chair;  whilst  my  uncle  Ralph 
managed  the  affairs  not  only  of  the  bank,  but  also  of  the 
family,  as  best  suited  his  own  purposes. 

As  far  as  I  was  concerned,  the  proposed  change  seemed 
of  very  little  consequence,  though  I  have  no  doubt  that  I 
did  not  really  know  my  own  mind,  and  fancied  myself 
more  indifferent  than  I  actually  was.  But  I  was  in  a 
strange,  unnatural,  excited  state,  underneath  my  very 
quiet  exterior ;  and  there  were  feelings  working  within  me 
which  made  all  things  appear  unreal.  That  startling 
meeting  with  Death ! — for  the  first  time,  in  so  awful  a 
form, — I  could  not  forget  it :  it  haunted  me  still,  though 
the  first  terror  was  gone.  I  found  myself  looking  at  my- 
self, looking  at  others,  not  as  they  were,  but  as  they  would 
be.  I  began  to  judge  the  smallest  events  by  their  sup- 
posed consequences ;  to  estimate  every  pleasure  by  the 
value  which  it  would  retain  in  my  last  moments.  All 
which  could  not  bear  that  ordeal  was,  to  my  eye,  worth- 
less. From  the  external  I  turned  to  the  internal  world, 
— my  own  mind,  my  habits  of  thought,  my  self-training, 
I  read  scarcely  any  book  but  the  Bible,  and  spent  hours 
by  myself  in  meditation  and  prayer.  Then  alone  I  felt 
safe,  ready  for  death ;  that  death  which  was  before  me  at 
all  seasons,  in  the  midst  of  all  occupations,  checking  me 
in  every  pursuit,  and  casting  a  shade  over  all  that  would 
otherwise  have  been  enjoyment. 

My  mother  now  and  then  found  me  crying  by  myself 
in  my  own  room  ;  and,  when  I  could  give  no  reason  for 
being  depressed,  she  naturally  enough  fancied  me  nervous, 
and  gave  me  sal  volatile,  and  sent  me  out  for  a  walk 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  47 

She  could  scarcely  have  suggested  a  worse  remedy.  To 
walk  with  Herbert  and  Hester  was,  in  fact,  to  walk  alone, 
for  I  had  given  up  trying  to  amuse  them,  and  made  them 
run  on  before  me,  whilst  I  wandered  on  by  myself  think- 
ing. Yet  I  was  not  yielding  to  dreaminess  voluntarily  : 
I  would  have  done  anything  that  was  put  before  me  aa  a 
duty ;  and,  when  I  sometimes  walked  through  a  back 
street  in  Carsdale,  and  saw  the  miserable  human  beings 
collected  there, — the  ragged  children,  the  untidy  women, 
the  faces  haggard  with  illness  and  poverty,  my  longing  to 
help  them  grew  so  intense  as  to  be  actual  suffering.  The 
idea  of  removing  to  East  Side  became  by  degrees  more 
formed.  The  first  intention  had  been  to  rent  the  place ; 
but  it  was  afterwards  proposed  to  buy  it.  The  investment 
was  considered  good,  and  my  father  declared  that  the 
change  would  be  economical.  He  should  be  able  to  farm 
a  little,  which  would  be  a  pleasant  and  profitable  amuse- 
ment ;  and,  by  keeping  cows  and  pigs,  and  eating  our  own 
mutton  and  our  own  vegetables,  we  were  to  live  at  a  much 
less  expense  than  at  Castle  House.  In  point  of  situa- 
tion, he  added,  the  two  places  were  not  to  be  compared. 
East  Side  stood  on  a  hill,  on  the  borders  of  a  common : 
a  walk  on  the  common  every  morning  would  be  just  the 
thing  for  me ;  in  fact,  it  would  make  the  difference  of 
having  no  doctor's  bill  at  the  end  of  the  year.  If  that 
alone  were  considered,  it  would  be  the  wisest  thing  we 
could  do  to  remove  there  :  and,  to  my  surprise,  I  found 
suddenly  one  morning  that  the  house  was  taken  for  me, — 
solely  for  me.  My  sisters  suffered  a  few  expressions  to 
escape  them  which  indicated  that  they  hoped  to  see  more 
society  in  consequence ;  biit  they  were  instantly  stopped. 
There  was  to  be  no  change  whatever,  my  father  said  ;  no 
increase  of  establishment,  no  folly  and  finery  ;  we  went 
for  health,  and  we  were  to  live  a  strictly  retired,  country 
life.  My  dear  mother  smiled  ;  but,  now  that  I  recall  the 
smile,  I  think  it  was  rather  sad.  At  the  close  of  that 
conversation,  my  father  was  called  out  of  the  room  to  talk 
to  a  man  who  wished  to  be  our  gardener  at  East  Side, 
for  we  had  no  regular  gardener  at  Castle  House.  One 
week  after,  and  strange  faces  filled  the  house  :  upholster- 
ers' men  were  taking  down  the  beds,  carpenters'  men  were  . 


48  THE    EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

removing  the  fixtures,  charwomen  were  in  every  room, 
doing  everything  for  everybody.  The  hum  of  voices,  the 
clatter  of  heavy  shoes,  the  clang  of  hammers,  the  rattle 
of  crockery  and  glass,  began  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  continued,  without  interruption,  till  evening.  Each 
hour  the  chaos  increased.  Herbert  and  Hester  occupied 
themselves  in  antiquarian  researches :  they  dived  into 
chests  and  closets,  and  brought  out  torn  spelling-books, 
covers  of  boxes,  long-forgotten  toys, — treasures  which  had 
for  months  been  searched  for  in  vain.  My  mother  and  I 
wasted,  I  should  think,  at  least  an  hour  a  day  together  in 
settling  what  should  be  kept  and  what  should  be  burnt ; 
and  when  I  was  left  alone,  I  wasted  a  good  deal  more. 
Though  the  things  themselves  were  mere  rubbish,  they 
were  full  of  associations :  they  sent  my  thoughts  back  to 
the  past,  and,  as  I  sat  in  the  nursery  window-seat,  turning 
them  over  in  my  lap,  I  felt  as  if  that  past  was  about  to 
die.  Days  went  on,  and  we  did  not  seem  at  all  nearer 
the  end  of  our  work  ;  if  it  decreased  at  Castle  House,  it 
increased  at  East  Side :  the  intercourse  between  the  two 
places  was  incessant.  My  mother's  face  lengthened  as 
she  found  one  morning  that  the  original  plan  for  the  green- 
house was  increased  one-third,  and  that  it  would  be  neces- 
sary to  turn  the  road  to  give  space  for  it.  There  were 
very  good  reasons  for  both  suggestions.  When  we  were 
making  alterations,  it  would  be  folly,  every  one  said,  not 
to  make  them  good ;  the  money  might  as  well  be  thrown 
away,  as  employed  in  doing  what  would  certainly  be  al- 
tered the  next  year ;  and,  with  regard  to  the  greenhouse 
especially,  if  it  were  built  too  small,  it  would  be  impossi- 
ble to  heat  it  properly,  and  we  inight  as  well  have  none  at 
all.  My  mother  was  taken  over  to  East  Side  the  next 
day  to  see  the  greenhouse,  or,  rather,  the  spot  where  it 
was  to  be.  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Blair,  from  Carsdale,  went  with 
them.  They  were  very  much  interested  in  the  changes 
at  East  Side  ;  so  were  a  great  many  of  our  friends.  Par- 
ties were  made  constantly  to  see  it :  it  was  a  convenient 
distance  for  a  short  drive  ;  and,  as  the  days  were  drawing 
in,  they  liked  to  call  upon  us  first,  and  have  luncheon,  and 
drive  over  afterwards,  taking  any  of  us  with  them  if  we 
.wished  to  go.     We  had  given  up  regular  dinners  ever 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  49 

since  the  packing  began,  but  there  was  luncheon  to  be 
had  in  the  dining-room  all  day  ;  and,  though  the  house 
was  gradually  being  dismantled,  no  one  was  particular, 
and  our  friends  laughed,  and  chatted,  and  ate  and  drank 
all  the  more  merrily  because  there  was  no  formality.  A 
great  attraction  at  East  Side,  I  am  sure,  was  the  walled 
garden.  The  fruit  that  year  was  particularly  fine,  and 
one  of  my  father's  reasons  for  hastening  the  purchase  of 
the  place  was,  that  it  seemed  a  pity  to -lose  the  advantage 
of  the  garden.  Fruit  and  vegetables  always  sold  so 
well  in  the  Carsdale  market,  that  he  calculated  we  might 
make  a  very  good  profit  from  them.  I  was  never  told 
how  much  fruit  was  sold,  but  I  know  we  revelled  in 
peaches  and  nectarines  at  home,  and  loaded  our  friends 
with  baskets-full,  whenever  they  went  to  East  Side. 

I  was  not  a  witness  of  the  last  removal.  About  ten 
days  before  we  permanently  left  our  old  home,  I  was 
seized  with  violent  headaches,  caused,  I  imagine,  by  weak- 
ness and  over-fatigue.  They  came  every  day  at  a  certain 
hour,  and  lasted  a  certain  time,  and  then  left  me  so  ill  and 
depressed  that  I  could  not  make  any  exertion,  or  bear  the 
least  noise.  Of  course,  Castle  ETouse  was  not  a  proper 
home  for  me  under  such  circumstances.  Mr.  Stone,  the 
medical  man,  recommended  a  change  to  the  seaside,  but 
that  was  out  of  the  question ;  for  there  was  no  one  to  go 
with  me,  and  no  money  to  spare  for  my  expenses  if  there 
had  been.  A  good  deal  of  consultation  went  on  at  different 
times,  and  at  last  some  one  suggested  that  perhaps  I  might 
go  and  stay  with  aunt  Sarah.  Unquestionably  I  should 
be  quiet  enough  there.  Joanna,  indeed,  declared  that  I 
ehould  die  of  dulness.  My  dear  mother  disliked  the  idea 
of  parting,  with  me,  ^d  was  afraid  that  aunt  Sarah's  old- 
fashioned  ways  would  be  trying  to  an  invalid  ;  but  I  over- 
ruled every  objection.  The  thought  of  the  quiet  parlour, 
and  the  house  in  which  every  footstep  could  be  heard,  was 
rest  and  refreshment  to  me.  I  had  no  energy  for  employ- 
ment more  exciting  than  aunt  Sarah's  daily  reading  and 
knitting  ;  and  if  she  would  let  me  creep  up  and  down  the 
broad  pavement  which  divided  her  long  strip  of  garden,  I 
was  sure  I  should  not  wish  to  go  further,  unless,  perhaps, 
it  might  be  to  church  with  Miss  Cole.  I  did  think  I 
3 


5C  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

sHould  like  to  go  there,  for  I  had  seldom  been  at  a  week- 
day service.  My  impression  of  the  last  day  spent  at  home 
is  a  painful  one, — it  is  connected  with  my  uncle  Ralph. 
My  mother  had  urged  my  father  not  to  let  the  bills  we 
were  incurring  run  up,  and  he  had  proniised  he  would  not. 
Some  of  the  accounts  owing  were  sent  in  according  to  or- 
der ;  afterwards  there  was  to  be  a  weekly  settlement. 
The  bills,  naturally  enough,  exceeded  the  calculations,  and 
my  father  protested  he  had  been  imposed  upon.  My  un- 
cle Ralph  happened  to  come  in  at  the  time,  and  my  father 
insisted  upon  their  being  shown  to  him,  much  to  my  mo- 
ther's annoyance.  I  was  packing  up  some  little  parcels  in 
the  same  room,  and  heard  all  that  passed.  My  father 
proposed  to  my  uncle  that  the  bills  should  be  paid  at 
once,  and  said  he  would  draw  the  money  and  get  rid  of 
them,  and  that  the  work  which  remained  to  be  done 
should  be  managed  differently,  according  to  some  specified 
agreement  beforehand.  My  mother  seconded  the  idea 
warmly  ;  it  seemed  quite  a  relief  to  her.  I  left  the  room 
supposing  that  all  was  settled.  When  I  went  back  again 
I  found  them  still  in  full  discussion.  The  old  question 
of  the  bank  affairs  ha5  been  in  some  way  or  other  mixed 
up  with  the  payment  of  these  bills.  I  believe  my  uncle 
recommended  that  they  should  not  be  paid  just  then,  be- 
cause it  was  not  desirable  to  draw  more  money  than  was 
absolutely  necessary  till  the  bank  accounts  were  made  up, 
— till,  to  use  his  favourite  expression,  we  could  all  see  our 
way  clearly.  It  would  be  likely  to  make  a  confusion  in 
the  accounts.  My  mother  could  not,  she  said,  see  the  ne- 
cessity for  the  delay.  The  bills  were  certainly  heavy ; 
but  not  so  heavy  as  to  make  them  of  real  importance  in 
a  large  banking  concern.  It  would  i)e  impossible  to  make 
more  economical  arrangements  for  the  future,  if  the  old 
accounts  were  not  settled  first.  My  uncle  put  on  his 
blandest  smile,  regretted  that  from  her  early  education 
she  could  know  but  little  of  business,  and  gently  suggested 
that  the  affair  in  question  was  a  gentleman's  concern  only. 
My  dear  mother  yielded,  as  every  one  did  when  there  was 
a  difference  of  opinion  with  uncle  Ralph,  and  in  the  most 
polite  manner  possible, — for  he  always  showed  her  great 
deference  in  manner — he  collected  the  bills,  placed  tham 


•    THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  51 

in  Ler  hand,  and  seeing  her  turn  to  the  door  as  if  she  was 
going  away,  though  I  do  not  believe  she  had  any  inten- 
tion of  doing  so,  opened  it,  and  all  but  bowed  her  out  of 
the  room,  my  father  standing  by  passive. 

My  mother  sat  down  in  my  father's  dressing-room,  and 
fairly  cried  with  vexation.  I  followed,  doing  my  best  to 
comfort  her.  When  my  father  came  in  about  five  minutes 
afterwards,  he  told  her  that  it  was  quite  the  best  arrange- 
ment to  make ;  he  had  had  a  little  talk  with  my  uncle, 
and  there  would  very  shortly  be  a  full  settlement  of  every 
thing.  It  was  a  matter  of  kindness  to  my  uncle  not  to 
worry  him  just  then  ;  and  with  our  great  claims  upon  the 
bank,  the  bills  would  easily  be  paid  at  any  time.  My 
mother  asked,  had  my  uncle  stated  what  the  amount  of 
our  claims  would  be  when  our  old  debts  were  paid  ;  had 
he  mentioned  what  we  really  were  to  depend  upon  1  What 
a  senseless  question !  My  father  grew  quite  impatient. 
How  could  any  one  tell  ?  A  business  like  theirs  would 
take  months  to  settle.  But  there  was  not  the  least  occa- 
sion for  her  to  trouble  herself.  We  might  have  been  liv- 
ing a  little  beyond  our  income  before,  but  it  would  all  be 
right  now.  There  would  unquestionably  be  a  large  sum 
due  to  us,  though,  as  my  uncle  had  just  been  saying,  it 
would  be  excessively  unwise  to  take  it  out  of  the  bank, 
unless  it  could  be  better  invested ;  and,  in  fact,  that  was 
what  my  uncle  was  just  then  anxious  about.  He  had 
plans  which  might  be  of  immense  advantage  to  us,  and 
till  they  were  settled  it  was  desirable  not  to  draw  more 
than  was  absolutely  necessary. 

I  thought  of  course  that  my  father  was  right,  and  my 
mother  did  not  contradict  him  ;  though  I  heard  her  say, 
as  she  went  out  of  the  room,  "  If  we  could  only  pay  our 
bills  at  once,  we  might  learn  to  be  economical  for  the 
future." 


CHAPTER    VII. 

I  WENT  to  aunt  Sarah's  that  same  afternoon :  a  fly  which 
took  some  of  our  party  to  East  Side  carried  me  and  ray 


52  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

trunk  into  Carsdale  on  its  return.  I  remember  it  parti* 
cularly,  because,  as  my  father  gave  me  the  money  for  the 
driver,  he  turned  to  my  mother  and  said  it  would  not 
do  to  go  on  paying  at  that  rate.  He  should  look  out 
for  a  little  low  phaeton  which  we  might  drive  ourselves, 
and  which  would  take  us  in  and  out  of  the  town  as  often 
as  we  liked  for  nothing. 

Aunt  Sarah  always  dined  at  two  o'clock.  When  I  ar- 
rived she  was  sitting  with  Miss  Cole  at  a  table  covered 
with  a  spotted  black  and  red  cloth,  and  on  which  stood 
two  decanters  in  painted  stands,  a  curiously  shaped  china 
bottle,  a  china  basket  with  Oliver  biscuits,  and  the  small 
deep  broad-rimmed  plates  which  I  so  particularly  ad- 
mired. The  room  looked  very  comfortable,  and  the  jfire 
blazed  brightly,  and  there  was  an  air  of  great  neatness 
about  it.  I  must,  I  suspect,  have  looked  cold  and  out  of 
spirits,  for  aunt  Sarah  took  both  my  hands  in  hers,  grasp- 
ed them  tightly,  fixed  her  eyes  upon  me  for  nearly  half  a 
minute,  and  then  telling  me  I  was  a  poor  little  body  and 
half-starved,  bade  me  sit  down  by  the  fire  and  take  some 
mulled  elder  wine  and  a  biscuit.  Miss  Cole  suggested 
that  the  mulled  wine  might  make  my  head  ache  if  I  was 
not  accustomed  to  it,  but  it  was  aunt  Sarah's  infallible 
recipe  for  all  the  bodily  ills  of  life,  and  I  drank  the  wine 
without  further  question.  Then  came  a  string  of  short 
queries  as  to  home  concerns, — ^what  was  doing,  and  what 
was  planning,  and  when  we  were  to  move  to  East  Side,  all 
of  which  I  answered  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  aunt  Sarah 
at  every  pause  muttering  "  umph  !"  and  beginning  the 
following  sentence  with  "  Well,  child,  and  what  more  ?" 
When  I  had  told  her  all  I  could  think  of,  she  observed 
with  a  grim  smile,  which  yet  had  something  very  kind  and 
hearty  in  it,  "  And  so,  Sally,  you  are  come  to  stay  here 
with  your  old  aunt  for  a  week ;  you  must  be  very  good, 
remember.  Molly  and  Betty  don't  like  being  put  out  of 
their  ways."  Betty,  a  stout,  bright-faced,  elderly  woman, 
dressed  in  a  brown  and  white  cotton  gown,  with  a  muslin 
handkerchief  pinned  over  her  neck,  was  just  then  taking 
away  the  dessert ;  but  she  stopped  at  the  parlour  door 
with  a  tray  in  her  hand  to  remark  that  Miss  Sarah  was 
not  likely  to  be  so  much  trouble  as  the  little  ones.     She 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  53 

and  Molly  had  been  saying  that  very  day  that  it  was  a 
good  thing  Miss  Hester  was  not  coming,  for  the  very  last 
time  she  was  there  she  had  picked  the  lemon  plants  in  the 
garden  all  to  pieces.  Verbenas  wert5  lemon  plants  in 
those  days :  these  lemon  plants  were  Molly  and  Betty's 
great  treasures — large,  low,  spreading  plants  in  flower 
pots.  I  never  see  any  like  them  now  ;  and  never  find  any 
with  the  same  scent.  I  took  the  hint,  which  I  knew  was 
intended,  promised  I  would  not  touch  the  lemon  plants 
without  leave,  and  then  asked  if  I  might  go  to  my  bed- 
room to  put  away  my  things.  This  bedroom  I  had  rather 
dreaded ;  it  was  so  very  tidy  and  so  intensely  white, — a 
white  paper,  white  dimity  curtains  to  the  four-post  bed, 
white  dimity  window-curtains,  white  dimity  coverings  for 
the  arm-chair  with  an  upright  back,  which  was  placed  by 
the  fire-place,  and  for  the  elbow  chairs  of  painted  mahog-- 
any,  which  stood  by  the  drawers  and  the  bed.  The  only 
thing  I  felt  an  interest  in  was  an  engraving  of  the  death 
of  Lord  Nelson,  with  a  skeleton  print  by  its  side,  which 
formed  a  key  to  the  difi"erent  heads  in  the  picture.  I  had 
studied  that  attentively,  whenever  by  any  chance  I  had 
gone  into  the  room,  and  had  learnt  a  good  deal  of  history 
from  it  indirectly,  as  it  had  stimulated  me  to  learn  all 
I  could  of  the  events  which  it  represented.  It  was  a 
most  agreeable  surprise  to  find  a  cheerful  fire  lighting  up 
the  spare  room,  ordered,  as  Miss  Cole  informed  me,  ex- 
pressly by  aunt  Sarah,  who,  though  she  would  have 
scorned  the  notion  of  a  fire  for  herself,  except  in  the 
depth  of  winter,  thought  I  was  but  a  puny  thing,  and  fiad 
always  been  used  to  be  spoilt  I  set  to  work  to  unpack 
my  box,  and  then  I  drew  the  arm-chair  near  the  fire,  and 
leaned  my  head  against  the  hard  back,  and  felt  myself  in 
quiet  luxury. 

But  it  was  not  luxury  very  long.  About  half-past  five 
o'clock  my  headache  came  on — throbbing,  shooting,  dis- 
tracting, taking  away  every  power  of  thought  or  exertion. 
When  Betty  came  up  to  tell  me  that  tea  was  ready,  I  was 
lying  on  my  bed,  scarcely  able  to  speak.  Aunt  Sarah 
sent  Miss  Cole  to  see  me,  but  she  could  do  me  no  good, 
and  I  was  again  left  to  myself 

When  the  pain  went,  after  about  two  hours  of  terrible 


54  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

suffering.  I  was,  as  usual,  wretched.  Such  desponding 
fancies  I  had — such  recollections  of  the  naughty  things  I 
had  done  in  my  childhood  !  I  knelt  doivn  and  tried  ^to 
say  my  prayers,  but  I  could  only  cry ;  it  seemed  as  if  all 
my  words  had  left  me.  I  thought  I  ought  to  remember 
every  wrong  thing  I  had  ever  done,  or  it  would  not  be 
forgiven  ;  and  I  tried  to  do  so ;  but  the  moment  I  began 
to  think,  all  sorts  of  questions  of  casuistry  rose  up  in  my 
mind.  I  opened  the  Bible  to  read  the  evening  lessons, 
but  that  only  made  me  worse.  The  words  suggested  im- 
pious doubts,  which  I  could  neither  conquer  nor  argue 
against,  aad  I  closed  the  book  in  horror,  feeling  that  I 
was  too  guilty  to  be  worthy  either  of  prayer  or  of  the 
word  of  God. 

It  was  nearly  nine  o'clock  before  any  one  came  to  dis- 
turb mc.  Then.  Betty  stole  in  very  quietly  with  a  cup 
of  hot  coffee,  and  a  biscuit,  and  begging  to  know  if  I 
should  like  a  sandwich.  I  refused  every  thing.  I  did 
not  want  to  eat ;  I  could  not  touch  the  coffee  ;  I  had  no 
wish  to  see  any  one.  A  I  said  the  words  I  felt  they  were 
ungracious,  so  I  sent  my  love  to  aunt  Sarah,  and  thanked 
her,  and  wished  her  "good  night." 

About  ten  minutes  afterwards,  I  heard  a  slow,  heavy^ 
plodding  step  upon  the  stairs.  Aunt  Sarah  was  going  to 
bed.  She  and  Betty  had  a  little  colloquy  in  the  passage, 
and  I  heard  Betty  say,  "  It's  no  mortal  use,  ma'am  ;  much 
better  leave  her  to  herself;  she'll  go  to  sleep,  and  be  quite 
well  to-morrow,"  to  which  aunt  Sarah  made  no  reply  ex- 
cept by  coming  into  my  room.  I  sat  upright  in  the  arm- 
chair, and  looked  as  well  as  I  possibly  could.  I  smiled 
even,  and  before  a  question  was  asked,  remarked,  of  my 
own  accord,  that  my  headache  was  quite  gone.  "  That's 
well,"  said  aunt  Sarah,  and  she  sat  down  opposite  to  me. 
"  I  think  I  had  better  go  to  bed  now,"  I  continued.  "  To 
bed,  child  !  why,  you've  been  in  bed  all  the  evening. 
Why  don't  you  eat  ?"  she  added,  quickly.  "  I  don't  want 
any  thing,"  I  replied.  "  Do  you  mean  to  starve  ?"  ex- 
claimed my  aunt,  and  she  caught  hold  of  my  hand  to  fee] 
my  pulse.  I  don't  know  what  the  result  of  her  examina- 
tion might  have  been,  but  when  it  was  over  she  rest- 
ed her  hands  upon  her  knees,  and   bending  forward  to 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  55 

look  at  me  more  narrowly,  said,  "  What  have  you  been 
doing  by  yourself  all  this  time  ?"  "  I  tried  to  read,"  I 
said,  whilst  my  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  Umph  !  the  Bi- 
ble," said  my  aunt,  glancing  at  the  open  page.  "  There 
was  nothing  else  to  read,"  I  replied,  dreading  to  enter 
into  any  explanation  of  my  feelings.  "Umph!"  again 
repeated  my  aunt ;  "  do  you  never  read  the  Bible  except 
when  you've  nothing  else  to  do  ?"  "  Oh,  yes  !  indeed^ 
sometimes,  very  often — that  is,  when  I  can,"  I  exclaimed 
in  great  confusion.  "  Why  can't  you  speak  out,  child  V 
interrupted  my  aunt.  "  It's  easy  to  say,  yes  or  no."  "  I 
read  the  lessons  generally,"  I  said,  trying  to  command 
my  nervousness.  "  That's  well ;  did  you  read  the  lessons 
to-night  ?"  "  I  began  a  little,  and  then  I  left  off,  be- 
cause   "  I  was  on  the  point  of  saying  I  was  inter- 
rupted,— it  would  have  been  true  in  the  letter,  and  not 
in  the  spirit.  Betty's  coming  into  the  room  had  once  in- 
terrupted me,  but  that  was  not  the  reason  of  my  leaving 
off.  I  stopped,  "  Because  what  ?"  asked  my  aunt.  "  Be- 
cause— I  don't  know — I  can't  read  ;  I  can't  do  anything,'" 
I  exclaimed  ;  and  I  burst  into  tears.  My  aunt  stretched 
out  her  hand  and  rang  the  bell.  Betty  came  to  the  door. 
"  Make  the  cojGfee  hot,  and  bring  it  up,  and  the  biscuits,' 
said  my  aunt.  "  You  will  eat,  Sally,"  she  added,  tapping 
my  shoulder.  "  I  can't,  indeed  I  can't,  aunt  Sarah,"  I  re- 
plied, "  I  only  want  to  go  to  bed."  "  You  will  do  as  I 
bid  you,  child."  But  though  she  spoke  roughly,  she  gave 
me  a  kiss.  The  coffee  was  brought :  my  aunt  poured  it 
out  herself,  scolding  Betty  because  the  milk  was  not  hot ; 
and,  putting  the  spoon  into  my  hand,  told  me  not  to  be 
foolish,  but  to  drink  it  up.  I  had  not  power  to  resist ; 
and,  indeed,  after  the  first  effort  I  could  not  help  owning 
that  it  was  very  nice.  "  To  be  sure  it  is,"  replied  my 
aunt,  "  what  should  I  have  ordered  it  for,  if  it  was  not. 
Do  they  let  you  go  on  in  that  senseless  way  at  home,  cry- 
ing and  starving  yourself  to  death?"  I  smiled,  and  my 
aunt's  face  brightened ;  and,  patting  me  on  the  back,  as 
she  would  a  favourite  horse,  she  encouraged  me  to  g»  on, 
telling  me  it  was  better  than  any  medicine,  and  would 
send  me  to  sleep  in  no  time.  '  "  I  wish  you  would  go  tc 
eleep  yourself,  aunt  Sarah,"  I  said,  "  I  can't  bear  keeping 


56  THE    EXPERIENCE    OE   LIFE. 

you  up  in  this  way,  and  giving  you  so  much  trouble.* 
"  Trouble,"  repeated  my  aunt,  "  why,  what  else  can  one 
have  in  this  world  ?  It's  made  up  of  it ;  and  if  people 
won't  go  to  trouble,  trouble  will  be  sure  to  come  to  them. 
Drink  your  coffee,  Sally,  and  don't  be  foolish."  The  cof- 
fee was  drunk ;  my  aunt  took  the  cup  from  my  hand,  and 
put  it  down  on  the  table,  with  a  triumphant  "  There  !" 
"  And  now  good  night,  dear  aunt  Sarah,"  I  said,  •'  and 
thank  you  a  thousand  times."  She  remained  silent,  lean- 
ing upon  the  ivory  stick  which  she  always  used  when 
walking  or  standing.  Her  wrinkled  face  was  quite  beau- 
tiful in  its  expression  of  earnest  thought.  "  It  wouldn't 
hurt  either  you  or  me,  Sally,"  she  said  presently,  "  to  have 
a  chapter  in  the  Bible  read.  Miss  Cole  shall  come^and 
read  to  us."  Of  course  t  could  not  object.  Miss  Cole 
was  sent  for,  and  the  second  evening  lesson  was  read. 
Then  she  paused,  and  looked  at  my  aunt.  "  Miss  Cole 
always  reads  some  church-prayers  to  me  before  I  go  to 
sleep,"  said  my  aunt ;  "  she  shall  read  them  here  to-night." 
Miss  Cole  and  I  knelt,  my  aunt  stood, — she  had  not  been 
able  to  kneel  for  years, — her  hands  crossed  as  she  rested 
upon  her  stick,  her  whole  look  and  attitude  that  of  the 
most  simple  but  intense  devotion.  Miss  Cole  read  the 
Confession,  the  Lord's  Prayer,  the  second  Collect  in  the 
evening  service,  the  Thanksgiving,  and  the  concluding 
blessing.  After  a  few  minutes  we  stood  up  :  "  God  bless 
you,  child,"  said  aunt  Sarah,  as  she  bent  to  kiss  me  :  "  you 
won't  say  any  more  prayers,  or  read  any  more  to-night. 
Get  to  bed  as  fast  as  you  can;  Miss  Cole  will  come  and 
see  if  your  candle  is  out  safe."  I  did  as  I  was  told :  I 
was  not  happy,  but  I  was  thankful  to  have  some  one  to 
obey. 


CHAPTEE    VIII. 

AuN*  Sarah  always  had  her  breakfast  in  her  own  room, 
but  Miss  Cole  read  prayers  to  the  servants.  *I  was  care- 
ful to  be  down  in  time,  for  I  knew  it  would  be  a  great 
offence  to  be  late  ;  and  besides,  I  very  much  disliked  be- 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  5T 

mg  considered  an  invalid.  Miss  Cole  was  a  quiet  person, 
and  our  repast  was  a  silent  one  ;  but  all  the  more  agree- 
arble  to  me.  When  it  was  over,  Miss  Cole  said  she 
should  be  going  to  church  at  eleven,  as  it  was  Wednes- 
day ;  should  I  like  to  go  with  her  ?  "  Yes,  certainly,  if  I 
might,  if  aunt  Sarah  would  not  object ;"  and  Miss  Cole 
smiled  at  the  doubt,  and  begged  me  to  amuse  myself  till 
half  past  ten,  and  get  ready  for  church  when  I  heard  the 
first  bell. 

I  wandered  out  into  the  garden,  an  oblong  piece  of 
ground,  surrounded  by  a  high  wall,  and  overlooked  by 
the  attic  windows  of  many  of  the  houses  in  the  town.  It 
was  divided  in  the  middle  by  a  broad  pavement,  which 
was  teirminated  by  a  pair  of  closed  gates,  opening  into  a 
court,  and  from  thence  giving  an  exit  to  the  back  street. 
The  ground  on  each  side  of  the  pavement  was  cut  up  into 
small  plots,  encircled  by  box  edges,  and  intersected  with 
earth  walks,  so  narrow  that  there  was  scarcely  room  to 
walk  in  them.  I  liked  the  garden  excessively,  it  was  so 
cheerful :  the  flowers  were  quite  luxuriant,  intertwining 
one  with  the  other  till  the  whole  was  a  mass  of  colour. 
And  there  was  such  a  curious  mixture  in  it,— little  quiet 
corners  for  lilies  of  the  valley  and  wood  strawberries  ; 
raspberry  and  gooseberry  bushes  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  fraxinellas  and  jonquils  :  I  never  knew  where  to  look 
for  anything  in  it,  and  was  continually  stumbling  upon 
something  new.  To  go  round  the  garden  was  like  making 
a  voyage  of  discovery.  I  did  not  make  any  discoveries  on 
that  day,  however ;  I  only  sauntered  up  and  down  the 
pavement,  stopping  every  now  and  then  to  enjoy  the  scent 
of  Molly  and  Betty's  lemon  plants^  and  not  thinking  of 
anything — only  feeling  that  I  was  quiet. 

The  bell  for  churcli  struck  out,  and  I  went  in  doors  to 
get  ready.  I  met  aunt  Sarah  on  the  stairs  ;  she  kissed 
me  kindly,  but  did  not  ask  me  how  I  was,  and  bade  me 
not  be  late  for  church.  I  think  I  was  a  little  disappointed 
that  she  seemed  so  soon  to  have  forgotten  what  I  had 
been  suffering. 

We  left  the  house  the  very  moment  the  second  bell 
began.  It  was  a  market-day,  the  town  was  rather  full, 
and  every  one  we  met  seemed  in  a  bustle.  I  noticed  par- 
3* 


58  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

ticularly  two  or  three  country  gentlemen  I  knew  riding 
down  the  street,  and  the  mayor  and  Mr.  Stone  talking 
eagerly  at  the  corner,  and  Mrs.  Blair  walking  fast,  as  if 
she  had  a  good  deal  of  business  on  her  hands.  Just  for  a 
moment  I  fancied  they  were  all  afraid  of  being  late  for 
church  ;  but  it  was  a  silly  fancy.  We  went  into  the 
church  ;  cold,  dim,  and  vast  it  seemed  to  me.  Aunt  Sa- 
rah's pew  was  in  a  side  aisle,  and  the  heavy  galleries  and 
arches,  and  oddly  placed  windows  in  the  old  building,  as 
seen  from  it,  seemed  to  have  no  form  or  design.  One's 
eyes  wandered  amongst  them  till  they  appeared  intermi- 
nable. We  were  very  early.  Miss  Cole  knelt  long :  I  en- 
vied her  ;  I  felt  that  she  owned  the  influence  of  the  place, 
so  did  I .;  but  to  her  the  result  was  devotion,  to  me  it  was 
superstition.  The  footsteps  of  about  a  dozen  persons 
were  heard  as  they  stole  into  the  church,  but  I  saw  no  one 
except  a  very  decrepid  wonian,  and  a  sickly  boy,  in  a  seat 
opposite.  The  sounds  of  the  gentle  opening  of  the  door, 
and  the  occasional  slow  tread,  were  very  ghostly ;  a  strange 
sort  of  horror  crept  over  me,  as  if  we  all  were  spirits,  not 
human  beings  ;  and  I  looked  at  Miss  Cole  kneeling  so 
motionless  before  me ;  and  longed  to  touch  her,  that  I 
might  be  sure  she  was  a  living  creature.  The  bell  ceased, 
and  the  clergyman  began  the  service.  The  words  were 
natural,  more  natural  than  any  others,  yet  they  were  al- 
tered to  my  ears ;  they  were  very  impressive,  like  a  voice 
from  the  dead.  I  thought  those  who  had  come  to  listen 
to  and  join  in  them  must  be  very  good, — I  forgot  that  I 
was  one  of  them.  We  went  through  the  Confession,  the 
responses  were  but  a  low  murmur.  I  .was  afraid  of  the 
sound  of  my  own  voice,  and  I  repeated  them  in  a  whisper ; 
but  they  were  just  what  I  wanted  to  say,  for  the  burden 
of  my  offences  lay  heavy  upon  my  heart.  The  service 
seemed  short.  The  stillness  in  the  church  when  it  ended 
was  very  pleasant  to  me,  and  I  feared  to  have  it  disturb- 
ed ;  but  one  by  one  the  little  congregation  rose,  and  glided 
out  of  the  building  quietly  as  they  had  entered,  and  we 
followed,  the  last  of  all  except  the  clergyman.  When  we 
came  to  the  door  I  looked  back  into  the  deserted  church ; 
the  distant  corners  were  in  deep  shadow,  and  I  could  not 
trace  the  outline  of  the  aisles,  the  whole  building  was  so 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  59 

irregular ;  but  it  struck  me  as  very  large,  as  if  it  must  bo 
intended  as  a  home,  a  resting-place  for  hundreds.  I  won- 
dered why  it  was  not  so.  Miss  Cole  stopped  at  the  door, 
and  began  speaking  in  a  low  voice  to  the  sexton's  wife,  and 
I  sat  down  on  the  step  of  a  pew  near,  for  several  of  the 
old  pews  in  the  lower  part  of  the  church  were  raised  some 
inches  from  the  ground.  We  could  not  have  remained 
more  than  a  few  minutes,  but  they  were  much  longer  in 
my  imagination.  My  mind  travelled  back  to  other  years,— 
the  day  when  the  foundation-stone  of  the  church  was  laid, 
the  men  who  had  been  employed  in  the  building, — who 
they  were,  what  their  lives  had  been,  what  had  become  of 
them, — whether  I  should  ever  see  them,  where  and  what  I 
should  be  when  I  did  see  them ;  and  the  thought  made 
me  dizzy,  and  I  covered  my  face  with  my  hands,  and 
prayed  God  to  have  mercy  upon  me.  A  bright  ray  of 
sunshine  was  streaming  into  the  building  when  I  looked 
up  again.  It  came  from  a  window  high  in  the  roof,  and  I 
saw  the  blue  sky  through  it,  and  fancied  it  the  eye  of  an 
angel  gazing  upon  me  in  love ;  and  on  again  my  thoughts 
travelled,  I  know  not  where, — only  I  know  that  Miss 
Cole's  gentle  touch  startled  me  at  length  as  if  from  a 
happy  dream.  As  we  left  the  church  we  observed  a  lady 
and  gentleman  standing  by  the  porch  ;  the  gentleman  was 
the  clergyman  of  the  parish,  the  lady  I  thought  I  knew, 
but  I  Sould  not  at  that  moment  recollect  where  I  had 
seen  her.  Shs  was  tall  and  slight,  dressed  quite  plainly, 
in  a  dark  silk  gown,  a  shawl,  and  a  straw  bonnet,  and 
appeared  to  be  about  thirty  years  of  age.  There  was 
an  air  of  great  repose  and  ladylike  simplicity  in  her  man- 
ners ;  but  it  was  her  face  which  struck  me,  so  indescriba- 
bly sweet  it  was  in  its  expression,  yet  without  a  single 
feature  remarkable  for  actual  beauty.  The  eyes  were 
grey,  the  hair  was  rather  dark,  the  nose  pointed,  the 
mouth  small ;  that  was  all  the  description  which  could  be 
given,  but  my  eyes  were  riveted  upon  her  as  if  by  a  fasci- 
nation. Purity,  unworldliness, — the  bright  hope  of  a  life 
that  had  been  singularly  happy, — the  unwearied  charity  of 
a  heart  that  never  owned  a  thought  of  self — I  can  see  them 
now,  when  I  recall  her  image,  written  upon  her  countenance 
in  indelible,  unmistakable  characters ;  but  I  could  not  read 


60  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE 

them  then,  I  could  only  feel  them  ;  and  when  the  clergyman 
stopped  Miss  Cole  and  begged  to  know  if  he  might  intro 
duce  La(^  Emily  Rivers,  who  was  wishing  to  see  aunt  Sarah 
upon  a  matter  of  business,  I  felt  a  pang  of  disappointment 
at  the  thought  that  she  was  no  stranger  concerning  whom 
I  might  indulge  my  romance,  but  only  a  lady  with  whom 
my  mother  had  already  formed  a  slight  acquaintance,  and 
whom  I  had  often  heard  mentioned  in  words  of  general 
praise  as  a  particularly  nice,  amiable  person.     Miss  Col^ 
appeared  a  little  surprised  at  the  introduction,  but  its  mo- 
tive was  soon  explained.     There  were  some  questions  to 
be  asked  about  a  poor  family  in  the  town.     No  one  knew 
so  much  about  the  poor  of  that  district   as  Mrs.   Sarah 
Mortimer,;   so  Mr.   Benson  said,  and.  he  made  a  bow  to 
Lady  Emily  and  walked  away.     I  thought  of  aunt  Sarah 
sitting  helpless  in  her  arm-chair,  and  knitting,  and  won- 
dered what  he  meant.     We  walked  slowly  up  the  street, 
Lady  Emily  asking  a  few  questions  respecting  my  aunt's 
health,  and  making  inquiries  for  my  father  and  mother  in 
a  way  which  made  me  feel  that  she  did  not  forget  civility 
in  charity.     She  was  so  very  simple  in  all  she  said  that 
Miss   Cole's    shyness  was   quite  vanquished.     When  we 
reached  home  Lady  Emily  was  allowed  to  wait  in  the 
little  back  parlour  till  my  aunt  was  prepared  to  see  her. 
I  do  not  think  it  entered  either  Miss  Cole's  head  or  mine 
that  it  would  have  been  more  fitting  to  usher  her  up-stairs 
to  the  drawing-room  ;  that  piece  of  attention  was  reserved 
for  more  fashionable  visitors,  who  were  generally  received 
by  Miss  Cole  alone.     During  the  few  minutes  we  were  to- 
gether, I  found  myself  telling  Lady  Emily  a  good  deal  of 
my  family  history.     It  was  an  involuntary  impulse,  for 
she  asked  few  direct  questions,  except  those  which  I  sug- 
gested myself;  indeed,  she  showed  ilo  curiosity,  though  a 
great  deal  of  interest,     I  do  not  think  she  once  cast  her 
eye  round  the  room  to  look   at  the  prints  and  pictures ; 
and  certainly  she  made  no  observations  which  could  in 
any  way  be  called  personal.     Miss  Cole  soon  returned, 
and  took  Lady  Emily  with  her.     I  went  to  my  own  room  : 
I  was  there  for  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ;  and  then  I 
went  down  stairs  again,  fancying  that  Lady  Emily  must 
be  gone.     But  when  I  opened  the  parlour  door  I  saw  she 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  61 

was  still  there,  and  I  drew  back.  Aunt  Sarah  called  me 
in.  "  Come  in,  child  ;  we  are  not  talking  secrets  :"  and  I 
went  in,  not  sorry  to  have  another  interview  with  our  new 
visitor.  Lady  Emily  smiled  a  recognition,  and  went  on 
with  what  she  was  saying,  and  I  took  my  work  and  sat 
down  opposite  to  her.  Her  manner  to  my  aunt  was  very 
striking,  it  was  so  entirely  respectful, — I  might  almost 
have  called  it  reverential ;  for  it  was  the  manner  of  a  child 
to  a  parent.  And  as  the  conversation  continued  I  scarcely 
wondered  at  it.  They  talked  of  the  poor  people  in  a  part 
of  the  town  which  I  never  visited  ;  the  most  wretched  part 
of  Carsdale.  Mr.  Rivers,  I  found,  had  lately  become  the 
owner  of  the  property,  and  was  wishing  to  improve  it. 
Lady  Emily  entered,  into  his  views,  but  they  were  both 
desirous  of  gaining  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  people  as 
the  preliminary  step.  My  aunt  had  a  large  manuscript 
book  open  before  her,  and  Miss  Cole  was  examining  it  for 
her.  It  contained  a  list  of  houses  and  inhabitants,  the 
number  of  children,  the  occupations  of  the  parents,  their 
necessities  and  their  characters.  Lady  Emily  also  held 
a  list  of  names  in  her  hand,  which  she  was  comparing 
with  the  book. 

But  there  was  little  occasion  for  that.  My  aunt  knew 
almost  every  one,  without  referring  to  notes, — who  were 
extravagant,  and  who  were  provident,  what  had  been  done 
for  them,  and  what  more  was  required.  She  was  a  com- 
plete parish  note-book  ;  and  as  she  went  on  with  her  short 
comments,  I  involuntarily 'laid  down  my  work,  and  fixed 
my  eyes  upon  her  in  wonder.  She  looked  up  at  me  with 
her  keen  glance,  and  beckoned  me  to  her  side.  "  This  ia 
my  business  and  Miss  Cole's,  Sally,"  she  said,  pointing  to 
■the  book.  "  Every  one  must  work,  you  and  I,  and  Lady 
Emily  Rivers,  and  all  of  us.  God  has  made  me  helpless 
in  body  ;  but  I  thank  Him  I  am  not  helpless  in  mind." 
''  No,  indeed  !"  escaped  Lady  Emily's  Hps  ;  but  she  check- 
ed herself,  and  added,  "  only  at  your  age,  my  dear  madam, 
I  should  have  thought  you  would  have  required  more 
rest."  "  And  I  shall  have  it,  my  dear,"  said  my  aunt, 
laying  her  wrinkled  hand  kindly  upon  Lady  Emily's. 
"  But  rest,  even  now,"  said  Lady  Emily ;  and  I  thought 
the  tone  of  her  voice  changed ;  '•  surely  it  must  be  desira- 


62  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

ble ;  this  constant  thought  for  others  must  be  very  wea- 
risorae."  "  There  is  an  appointed  term  for  man's  life,"  re- 
plied my  aunt.  "  I  have  passed  beyond  it.  My  dearS; 
when  death  seems  as  near  to  you  as  it  does  to  me,  you 
will  know  why  the  old  should  work."  "  But  aunt  Sarah, 
you  can't  go  and  see  all  these  people,"  I  exclaimed.  "  To 
be  sure  not,  you  silly  child ;  but  Miss  Cole  can  go  for  me. 
What  should  I  do  with  a  district  by  myself?  There  go 
back  to  your  work,"  she  added,  motioning  me  from  her, 
goodnaturedly,  "  and  let  us  go  to  ours.  Have  we  finished 
your  ladyship's  list  ?"  They  returned  again  to  the  pa- 
pers— aunt  Sarah  as  quick,  and  eager,  and  sometimes  as 
sharp  in  her  observations,  as -if  Lady  Emily  had  been  a 
child  requiring  to  be  taught  her  duty;  and  Lady  Emily 
as  humble  and  respectful, — no,  far  more  so  than  any  child. 

The  task  was  ended.  Lady  Emily  rose  to  go.  My 
aunt  stood  up  also.  "  You  will  give  my  compliments  to 
Mr.  Rivers,"  she  said.  "  He  has  begun  a  work  he  will  ne- 
ver repent ;  I  honour  him  for  it."  Lady  Emily  held  out 
her  hand  ;  "  I  may  come  and  see  you  again,  dear  Mrs. 
Mortimer,  may  I  not,  even  when  1  have  no  business?" 
"  There  will  be  a  chair,  and  a  welcome  for  you  always. 
God  bless  you !"  and  my  aunt  took  Lady  Emily's  hand  in 
both  hers.    "  An  old  woman's  blessing  can  do  no  one  harm." 

The  door  was  closed,  and  I  drew  my  chair  nearer  to 
aunt  Sarah,  and  hoped  she  would  tell  me  what  she  thought 
of  Lady  Emily  Rivers.  But  there  must  have  been  other 
and  unusual  subjects  pressing  upon  my  aunt's  mind,  as 
she  leant  back  in  her  arm-chair,  with  her  hands  folded  to- 
gether, and  her  eyes  partially  closed.  I  could  have  fan- 
cied she  was  casting  a  backward  glance  to  the  course  of 
her  long  life  ;  perhaps  recalling  the  work  that  had  been 
done,  the  way  in  which  it  had  been  done,  the  account  that 
was  soon,  to  be  rendered  of  it.  At  least,  when  she  woke 
up  from  this  quiet  mood,  she  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  I 
heard  her  murmur  to  herself,  "  Enter  not  into  judgment 
with  thy  servant,  0  Lord,  for  in  thy  sight  shall  no  man 
living  be  justified."  Miss  Cole,  who  had  left  the  room 
with  Lady  Emily,  now  came  back  to  remind  my  aunt  that 
It  was  time  for  her  to  take  her  few  turns  in  the  garden 
before  dinner ;  but,  contrary  to  her  usual  precision,  aunt 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  63 

Sarah  seemed  inclined  to  linger.  She  was  evidently 
much  captivated  by  her  new  acquaintance,  for  without  re- 
plying to  Miss  Cole's  suggestion,  she  observed,  "  That's  a 
good  woman  ;  what  do  you  say  of  her,  Miss  Cole  ?"  "  She 
is  particularly  pleasing,"  was  the  gentle  answer.  "  I  don't 
like  that ;  I  like  something  more  hearty  !  She's  a  good 
woman,  she  takes  the  world  as  she  finds  it,  and  does  the 
best  she  can  with  it."  I  looked  up  rather  in  astonishment 
at  this  new  virtue.  Aunt  Sarah  slowly  raised  herself 
from  her  chair,  and  as  she  was  going  to  leave  the  room, 
assisted  by  her  stick  and  Miss  Cole's  arm,  she  came  up 
to  me,  and  tapping  me  on  the  shoulder  said :  "  You  don't 
know  what  I  mean  by  taking  the  world  as  you  find  it." 
"  No,  indeed  !"  I  replied,  I  am  afraid  a  little  pertly,  "  I 
never  knew  that  we  could  take-it  any  other  way."  "  Live 
and  learn,"  replied  my  aunt ;  "  you  are  but  a  chit  now. 
There's  not  one  woman  in  twenty,  there's  not  one  in  fifty, 
who  would  do  what  Lady  Emily  E-ivers  is  doing.  Listen 
to  me,  Sally ;  some  years  ago,  Fisherton  district  in  Cars- 
dale  was  a  good,  decent  sort  of  place  ;  and  there  was  a 
rich  man.  Green  was  his  name,  who  had  the  property, 
much  such  a  person  in  point  of  fortune  as  Mr.  Rivers. 
One  day  he  came  to  call  on  my  brother — your  grandfa- 
ther, when  I  was  there  too.  It  was  like  a  sermon  to  hear 
him  talk  about  churches  and  schools.  When  he  was 
gone,  I  said  to  your  grandfather :  •  John,  that  man  will 
be  a  blessing  to  Fisherton.'  Your  grandfather  was  a 
shrewd  man,  Sally,  and  he  laughed  and  said,  '  He'll  never 
do  a  thing  till  he  has  a  world  of  his  own  to  work  in.' 
And  so  it  was  ;  he  had  the  property  for  six  years,  and  all 
that  time  he  was  planning  what  he  would  do  if  he  had  a 
clergyman  after  his  mind,  and  books  after  his  mind,  and 
poor  people  and  children  just  what  he  thought  they  should 
be ;  and  the  end  of  it  was,  that  he  took  a  fit  of  disgust 
because  it  was  none  of  it  to  his  mind ;  and  he  sold  the 
property,  because,  he  said,  there  was  nothing  to  be  done 
with  it;  and  the  man  who  bought  it  was  a  worthless 
scamp,  and  Fisherton  was  ruined.  That  man,  Sally,  did 
not  know  that  it  was  his  duty  to  take  the  world  as  he 
found  it,  and  do  the  best  he  could  with  it."  My  aunt 
went  fo^  her  little  walk,  and  I  sat  still  at  my  work  and 
thought  upon  her  words. 


64  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

Time  passed  very  quickly  at  aunt  Sarah's  ;  I  had  been 
there  a  fortnight,  and  thought  it  but  a  few  days.  We 
breakfasted,  and  read,  and  walked,  and  dined,  and  rested, 
at  stated  hours,  and  to-day  seemed  like  yesterday  in  its 
quiet  occupations.  My  headaches  continued,  though  they 
were  not  quite  so  intense  ;  so  also  did  that  far  worse  pain, 
the  aching  of  the  mind,  though  insensibly  the  keenness  of 
the  anguish  was  dulled  ; — how  I  could  not  say,  yet  it 
might  be,  that  to  live  with  those  whose  faith  was  un- 
clouded, and  who  showed  that  it  was  so,  unconsciously 
strengthened  my  own.  My  aunt  never  talked  to  me  about 
myself  Her  chief  anxiety  was  that  I  should  work, — I 
do  not  mean  needlework,  though  she  was  very  particular 
about  that,  and  especially  made  Miss  Cole  teach  me  how 
to  knit  a  pair  of  worsted  socks  for  Hester ; — but  there 
was  always  something  to  be  done  for  somebody.  Miss 
Cole  used  to  laugh,  and  declare  that  her  office  would  be 
quite  a  sinecure,  if  I  was  made  to  wait  upon  my  aunt,  and 
keep  the  district  accounts,  and  write  notes,  and  look  after 
the  housekeeping  ;  but  aunt  Sarah,  though  she  owned  it 
was  hard  upon  her,  seemed  resolved  to  have  her  own  way. 
"  Begin  learning  your  lesson  now  there  is  an  opportunity, 
my  dear,"  she  said  one  day,  when  poor  Miss  Cole  had  been 
complaining  rather  more  seriously  than  usual ;  "  it  will 
take  a  good  long  time  to  make  it  perfect,  and  it  is  one 
which  we  must  all  learn  when  we  are  old — to  sit  power- 
less and  be  thankful."  Something  of  business  went  on  all 
day,  till  about  five  o'clock  in  the  evening,  the  time  when 
my  headaches  usually  came  on.  Then  aunt  Sarah  would 
make  me  lie  down  on  the  unwieldy  sofa,  placed  against 
the  wall  in  the  front  parlour,  and  bid  me  not  move,  be- 
cause Miss  Cole  was  going  to  read  the  evening  lessons.  It 
seemed  wrong  at  first,  and  I  begged  to  sit  up,  and  read 
too,  but  I  was  stopped  with  a  peremptory  "  lie  down  child, 
and  be  quiet ;"  and  I  lay  down,  weary  with  the  day's  exer- 
tions, and  finding  an  indescribable  charm  in  the  soft  mo- 
tiotony  of  Miss  Cole's  voice,  and  generally  at  last  fell 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  65 

asleep,  with  a  happy,  tranquil  sense  of  reposing  under  the 
shelter  of  an  Infinite  Power.  My  wakings,  however,  were 
not  quite  so  pleasant ;  I  was  sure  I  ought  to  have  at- 
tended more,  and  I  felt  bound  in  conscience  to  confess  it ; 
but  aunt  Sarah  never  took  much  notice  of  these  confes- 
sions ;  all  she  would  say  was,  "  Don't  trouble  about  it 
now,  Sally,  you  are  not  going  to  be  read  to  all  your  life. 
Miss  Cole,  please  ring  the  bell  for  tea."  And  tea  came, 
and  the  hissing  urn,  and  the  wide  cups  of  dragon  china, 
and  the  plate  of  toast  set  down  on  the  stand  before  the 
fire ;  and  my  aunt  had  her  cup  half  filled,  and  completed 
it  with  a  decoction  of  sage  leaves,  poured  out  from  the 
smallest  of  all  silver  teapots,  and  then  turning  to  Miss 
Cole  began,  "  Now  tell  me  what  you  have  been  doing," 
and  in  a  few  minutes  I  again  forgot  myself,  and  thought 
only  of  the  poverty  of  Carsdale,  and  the  measures  that 
were  to  be  taken  for  its  relief.  For  I,  too,  was  gradually 
learning  to  have  an  interest  in  aunt  Sarah's  poor  people. 
Some  I  had  visited  with  Miss  Cole,  of  others  I  had  heard 
the  sad,  often  eventful  history.  I  was  beginning  to  form 
my  own  opinions  about  them,  and  occasionally  I  ventured 
to  differ  from  Miss  Cole,  and  once  when  I  did,  aunt  Sa- 
rah gave  me  an  approving  nod,  and  said  "  That's  right, 
Sally ;  you  are  as  wrong  as  you  can  be ;  but  it  does  none 
of  us  any  harm  to  have  a  mind  of  our  own,  when  we  don't 
pride  ourselves  upon  keeping  it."  Miss  Cole  read  aloud 
after  tea.  Aunt  Sarah  was  a  reader  of  modern  as  well  as 
of  ancient  books,  but  on  this  occasion  she  insisted  upon 
going  back  to  some  of  her  first  favourites,  which  she  said  I 
should  never  know  any  thing  about  if  left  to  myself. 
Sometimes  we  had  a  paper  from  the  Spectator,  sometimes 
from  the  Rambler,  now  and  then  one  of  Addison's  or  Ma- 
son's plays ;  and  once,  as  an  especial  treat,  Shakspeare's 
"  Julius  Caesar."  There  was  nothing  exciting  in  it  all ; 
if  there  had  been.  Miss  Cole's  quiet  voice  would  effectual- 
ly have  neutralized  the  effect ;  yet  I  liked  it.  I  was  car- 
ried back  to^  the  past,  instead  of  being  urged  forward  to 
the  future.  The  quaintnesses  of  style  were  a  relief  to 
me ;  I  lived  with  the  learned  and  the  old,  and  leaned  up- 
on them,  and  my  mind  was  strengthened  by  the  inter- 
course.    And  so,  as  I  have  said,  a  fortnight  passed  away 


66  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE, 

Lady  Emily  Rivers  did  not  call  again,  and  there  was  no- 
thing to  interrupt  the  quietude  of  my  life,  except  the 
notes  and  messages  from  home  :  even  these  were  less  dis- 
turbing than  might  have  been  anticipated ;  my  mother's 
though tfulness  prevented  it.  I  had  been  sent  to  aunt 
Sarah's  for  rest,  and  rest  she  was  resolved  I  should  have. 
A  few  purchases  in  the  town  were  all  I  was  required  to 
undertake.  Messages  to  Castle  House  were  beyond  my 
power,  and  I  was  spared  them.  But  the  fortnight  was 
ended,  and  I  was  to  return — no,  not  to  return,  I  was  to 
go,  to  something  new,  confusing,  exciting,  possibly  irritat- 
ing. I  was  sure  that  it  would  be  so ;  and  even  the  idea 
of  the  novelty  of  East  Side  did  not  reconcile  me  to  the 
labour  which  I  foresaw  there.  I  was  seated  at  work 
alone  with  aunt  Sarah,  when  my  mother's  note  arrived, 
reminding  me  that  the  following  afternoon  I  should  be 
expected  at  home.  In  it  she  called  me  her  darling,  and 
said  she  was  longing  to  have  me  with  her ;  and  yet,  lov- 
ing my  mother  devotedly,  I  laid  down  my  work  and 
turned  aside  that  aunt  Sarah  might  not  see  my  tears. 
'-  Come  here,  child,  what  are  you  crying  for  ?"  said  my 
aunt  sharply.  My  tears  were  stopped  in  a  moment.  If 
she  had  said,  "  What  makes  you  unhappy  ?"  they  would 
have  been  a  deluge.  "  What  are  you  crying  for,"  repeated 
my  aunt,  and  she  adjusted  her  spectacles,  and  turned 
them  directly  upon  me.  Of  course  I  answered,  "  No- 
thing," and  smiled,  or  tried  to  do  so,  and  began  to  knit 
Hester's  sock  as  if  my  life  depended  upon  its  being  finish- 
ed in  the  course  of  the  day.  "  Nothing  means  nothing. 
People  don't  cry  for  nothing.  What  does  your  mother 
say  ?"     I  put  the  note  into  her  hands. 

There  was  a  visible  relenting  in  her  features.  "  Umph  ! 
Thursday,  why  can't  she  let  you  stay  till  Saturday  ?" 
"  If  I  might — I  wish  she  would  let  me,"  I  began.  "  No, 
she  is  right,"  continued  my  aunt,  dashing  my  hope  to  the 
ground  ;  "  they  are  always  busy  on  Saturday."  Yes,  in- 
deed, they  would  be  busy  ;  how  well  I  knew  that ! — un- 
less East  Side  was  to  be  very  unlike  Castle  House.  Re- 
ginald would  be  at  home  all  day,  and  require  incessant  at- 
tention ;  Hester  and  Herbert  would  have  a  holiday,  and 
ive  should  all  dine  at  one  o'clock,  and  have  a  long  noisy 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  67 

tea  at  six  ;  and  my  mother  would  have  a  bad  headache ; 
and  Caroline  would  be  cross,  and  Joanna  say  she  hated 
Saturday ;  and,  after  tea,  nurse  would  come  up  to  me, 
and  ask  if  I  could  help  look  over  the  linen,  which  the 
washerwoman  had  just  brought  home  :  and,  at  eight  o'clock, 
I  should  assist  in  putting  the  children  to  bed  ;  and  then 
I  should  do  some  plain  work  till  ten  o'clock,  and  go  to 
bed  too.  "  You  are  not  going  to  be  a  spoilt  child,  Sally," 
said  my  aunt,  seeing  my  countenance  change  at  this  refer- 
ence to  the  busy  Saturdays.  She  was  not  angry  with  me 
I  knew  by  her  tone,  and  I  ventured  to  say,  "  It  is  you 
who  have  spoilt  me,  aunt  Sarah,  if  am  spoilt."  "  Spoilt 
children  are  selfish,"  continued  my  aunt,  unheeding  my 
implied  compliment ;  "  I  hoped  something  better  from 
you."  She  spoke  of  me  as  if  she  thought  me  a  child,  and 
I  felt  provoked.  "  I  am  quite  willing  to  go  home  when- 
ever my  mother  sends  for  me,"  I  replied.  "  Don't  tell 
stories,  Sally,  you  are  not  willing."  "  Indeed,  aunt  Sa- 
rah, I  am,"  I  replied  ; ."  I  wish  to  go  home  to  be  of  use." 
"  And  fret  yourself  and  them  into  a  fever.  Take  my 
word  for  it,  Sally,  if  you  go  home  as  you  are  now  you  will 
be  more  trouble  to  your  mother  than  all  her  other  cares 
put  together."  '•  Oh  !  Aunt  Sarah  !"  and  I  felt  my 
cheek  flush.  "  Yes,"  repeated  my  aunt,  "  more  care  than 
all  her  other  cares  put  together.  Sally,  your  mother  rests 
upon  you,  you  can't  mean  to  fail  her."  There  was  a  depth 
of  earnestness  in  her  tone  which  struck  me  much.  With- 
out waiting  for  ine  to  reply,  she  went  on,  "  You  are  one 
of  a  large  family,  a  poor  family, — there  are  too  many  of 
you  ii  be  rich.  Large  families  are  trials :  your  mother 
loves  you  all,  but  you  are  trials.  Who  is  to  help  her  I 
don't  know.  Caroline  will  help  herself,  but  that  won't 
take  r  ire  of  all  of  you  ;  and  Joanna  will  sit  and  look  at 
her  p?  )tty  face  all  day  ;  that's  no  good,  unless  some  one 
else  h  oks  at  it  too.  And  there's  Hester,  a  mere  baby  ; 
and  t?ie  boySj-j-Vaughan  not  willing  to  lift  his  finger  if  h« 
can  b^lp  it;  and  Reginald  just  like  Caroline  ;  and  Her- 
bert not  out  of  the  nursery ;   whilst  you "    "  I  can 

help  her,  I  must — I  will,"  I  exclaimed.  "  With  red  eyes 
whenever  she  wants  a  pair  of  stockings  mended,"  observed 
rv't  Sarah.     She  said  it  so   maliciously,  yet  so  kindly, 


68  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

that  in  spite  of  being  heartily  provoked  with  myself,  I 
could  not  help  laughing.  "  Ah  !  laugh  if  you  will,  laugh- 
ing  helps  us  through  the  world,"  said  my  aunt,  "  but  cry- 
ing drags  us  back.  And  now,  Sally,  if  you  can  laugh 
when  you  go  home,  you  are  fit  to  go."  "  I  had  better  be- 
gin to  cry  then,  aunt  Sarah,"  I  replied,  "  for  you  know  I 
should  like  to  stay  here."  "  Then  you  would  be  a  niopy, 
piny,  weak  girl."  "  What !  leading  such  a  useful  life 
with  you  and  Miss  Cole  and  the  poor  people?  O  no,  aunt 
Sarah."     "  A  mopy,  puny,  weak  girl,"  repeated  my  aunt, 

"  and  I'll  tell  you  why,  Sally,  because "  and  the  tone 

of  her  eager  voice  was  subdued  into  solemnity,  "  it  is  not 
God's  will  that  you  should  be  here.  Whoever  goes  against 
His  will  must  be  weak."  "  If  I  had  good  health  like  the 
others,"  I  said,  "it  would  be  different;  but  it  is  that 
which  makes  me  feel  out  of  my  place  at  home.  I  cannot 
help  my  mother  when  I  wish  it :  and  as  you  said  just  now, 
aunt  Sarah,  I  am  often  more  care  to  her  than  all  the 
others  put  together."  "  I  did  not  say  you  were  more 
care,  I  said  you  might  be,"  replied  my  aunt,  "speak 
truth  next  time,  Sally."  "  But  it  is  true,"  I  continued, 
"  that  I  have  no  strength."  Aunt  Sarah  interrupted  me. 
"  When  I  was  your  age,  Sally,  I  was  once  standing  by  a 
great  river  which  was  rushing  to  the  sea ;  and  I  watched 
a  strong  man,  in  a  small  boat,  labouring  to  push  it  up  the 
stream :  he  had  little  more  power  than  a  baby.  And  I 
watched  a  young  boy  in  another  boat,  playing  with  the 
water,  so  it  seemed  :  but  the  current  of  the  stream  was 
with  him,  and  his  light,  strokes  had  a  force  which  bore 
him  on  swiftly  as  the  wings  of  a  bird.  I  thought  then, 
and  I  think  now,  that  the  will  of  God  is  as  the  force  of 
that  rushing  river ;  to  sail  with  it  is  strength, — to  strive 
against  it,  weakness."  As  she  paused,  I  ventured  to  say, 
though  more  timidly  than  before,  that  I  hoped  I  should 
try  to  do  God's  will  wherever  I  might  be.  "  To  do  His 
work,  you  mean,"  replied  my  aunt ;  "  but  that  is  not  what 
He  requires  of  us  :  His  will  is  our  duty,  not  His  work, 
that  will  be  done  without  us."  I  looked  up,  inquiring 
her  meaning.  "  What  is  the  work  we  do  ?"  continued  my 
aunt ;  "  to  give  a  morsel  of  food  to  a  starving  child  !  One 
word  of  His,  and  thoupunds  can  be  fed  with  a  few  barley 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  by 

loaves  and  two  small  fishes.  To  nurse  a  sick  fellow-crea- 
ture !  He  does  but  ^peak,  and  the  dead  are  raised  to 
life.  God  does  not  want  our  work,  Sally,  but  He  does 
want  our  will.  When  we  give  it,  we  give  all ;  when  we 
withhold  it,  we  give  nothing.  Think  of  that,  child,  by 
yourself  He  willed  your  place  in  your  own  family."  I 
saw  that  she  was  tired  with  the  unusual  earnestness  of 
the  conversation  ;  and  when  she  leant  back  and  was. silent, 
I  rose  and  left  the  room,  thinking  she  might  be  inclined 
to  sleep, 

I  strolled  out  into  the  garden.  It  was  a  most  deli- 
cious summer  afternoon  ;  even  amidst  the  smoky  atmos- 
phere of  a  town,  its  influence  was  felt ; — more  felt  than 
any  one  would  imagine  who  has  always  been  accustomed 
to  the  country.  Not  only  the  light  glancing  on  the  flowers, 
or  touching  the  wings  of  a  butterfly,  were  rejoicing  to  me ; 
but  even  the  flickering  sunshine  on  the  tiles  of  the  neigh- 
bouring houses  was  pleasant,  and  I  felt  envious  of  the 
sparrow  who  had  perched  himself  upon  the  attic  window 
of  Dr.  Blair's  house,  which  overlooked  my  aunt's  garden, 
and  wished  that  like  it  I  could  climb  to  the  highest  point 
and  sit  at  my  ease  and  gaze  upon  the  world  below  me. 
Yes,  aunt  Sarah's  was  a  very  happy  home ;  yet  I  felt  less 
pain  at  the  thought  of  leaving  it,  than  I  should  have  done 
before  we  had  talked  together.  I  sat  down  on  one  of  the 
stone  steps  leading  from  the  garden  to  the  laundry,  and, 
gazing  steadily  upoir  the  sky,  endeavoured  to  realise  to 
myself  the  idea  of  that  Irresistible  Will,  in  which  I  had 
been  told  I  was  to  find  the  strength  for  my  own  weak- 
ness. It  was  dangerous  ground  ;  I  knew  that  instinc- 
tively, but  I  could  not  bear  to  feel  that  there  was  any 
subject  on  which  I  dared  not  think,  and  I  went  on  ; — first, 
in  all  humility ;  then  with  a  difficulty  in  my  mind,  anxious 
to  solve  it ;  then,  after  having  answered  it  partially, 
struck  as  by  a  dagger's  thrust,  so  great  was  the  pang,  with 
a  doubt  suggested  by  the  very  answer  I  had  given  my- 
self ;  then — but  I  need  not  go  on.  Those  only  who  have 
known  the  racking  misery  of  a  mind  striving  to  satisfy  it- 
self by  its  own  reasoning,  in  questions  which  faith  alone 
can  answer,  will  understand  the  torture  of  that  next  half- 
hour,   and   the   terrible   gloom    that   overshadowed   me. 


70  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

wlien,  raising  my  head,  wliich,  in  the  intensity  of  thought 
I  had  buried  in  my  hands,  I  looked  again  upon  the  daz- 
zling sky. 

I  did  not  look  long.  Miserable  though  I  was,  I  still 
had  the  consciousness  of  duties  to  be  performed,  and  I 
rose  and  walked  slowly  into  the  house,  to  prepare  for  go- 
ing out  with  Miss  Cole.  I  walked  slowly,  for  I  was  think- 
ing still.  I  said  to  myself  that  I  would  stop,  but  I  had 
no  power  to  control  my  mind.  I  felt  myself  so  wicked, 
so  intensely  wicked,  so  unlike  every  one  in  the  world.  I 
longed  that  others  should  know  me  to  be  what  I  knew 
myself;  I  fancied  I  could  better  bear  my  doubts  if  they 
were  not  secret,  and  a  sudden  impulse  urged  me,  and  I 
stopped  at  the  parlour  door  and  thought  I  would  go  to 
aunt  Sarah — go  to  her,  confess  what  I  was,  beg  her  to  hate 
me,  to  send  me  from  her,  to  give  me  any  suffering,  but  only 
to  listen  to  me  and  know  me.  The  door  was  partly  open  : 
aunt  Sarah  was  alone  ;  standing,  leaning  on  her  stick,  in 
front  of  a  picture  of  her  brother.  Colonel  Mortimer.  She 
had  been  taking  her  solitary  walk,  as  she  called  it ;  slowly 
moving  about  the  room  to  relieve  the  weariness  after  long 
sitting  in  one  posture ;  and,  as  she  stood,  I  heard  her  re- 
peating to  herself:  "  The  Lord  is  my  light  and  my  salva- 
tion, whom  then  shall  I  fear  ?  The  Lord  is  the  strength 
of  my  life,  of  whom  then  shall  I  be  afraid?" 

I  walked  up  stairs.  Who  was  I  that  I  should  venture 
to  intrude  my  doubts  into  the  presence  of  a  perfect  faith  ? 
I  closed  the  door  and  knelt,  but  I  could  not  pray ;  the 
wretchedness  of  my  mind  grew  more  intense,  and  bodily 
anguish  was  added  to  it,  for  my  head  ached  fearfully.  Yet 
the  words  which  I  had  heard  follo\red  me.  I  found  my- 
self repeating  them  without  thinking  of  their  meaning ; 
and  then  they  framed  themselves,  as  it  were,  into  a  prayer, 
and  I  said,  "  Lord,  be  Thou  my  light  and  my  salvation, 
then  shall  I  not  fear  :  be  Thou  the  strength  of  my  life, 
then  shall  I  not  be  afraid."  Another  moment,  and  the 
rush  of  doubt  was  upon  me  again ;  but  I  was  not  helpless 
as  before.  The  first  prayer  had  been  little  more  than  me- 
chanical;  the  second  was  made  with  a  strong  concentration 
of  the  mind  upon  the  words  used,  and  an  equally  strong, 
almost  physical  repression  of  the  rising  doubts,  and  the 


*  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  71 

hour  of  darkness  was  over.  I  was  exhausted,  saddened, 
trembling,  as  one  who  has  escaped  a  deadly  peril  and 
knows  that  the  danger  may  return  at  any  moment ;  but 
it  was  over — the  fulness  of  faith  was  for  the  time  restored 
to  me. 


CHAPTER    X 


My  father  came  from  East  Side  the  next  day  in  the  pony 
chaise,  the  new  one  which  he  had  just  bought.  It  stood 
some  time  before  the  door.  I  do  not  know  whether  aunt 
Sarah  noticed  it  at  first,  but  I  quite  well  remember  my 
father's  asking  her  what  she  thought  of  it ;  and  her  quick 
turn  of  the  head,  and  short  answer :  "  It  might  do  for 
Lady  Emily  Rivers."    My  father  took  it  as  a  compliment. 

My  aunt's  parting  manner  was  very  affectionate,  but 
not  pitying.  She  said  she  was  glad  I  had  had  a  rest ;  I 
should  have  another  whenever  I  wanted  it.  She  was  glad, 
too,  that  I  was  going  home  ;  it  was  good  for  girls  to  be 
useful.  She  hoped  I  should  manage  to  knit  the  heel  of 
the  socks  properly ;  if  I  found  myself  puzzled  I  had  bet- 
ter write  to  Miss  Cole  :  then,  as  my  father  left  the  room 
and  I  drew  near  to  kiss  her,  she  passed  her  hand  over  my 
forehead,  and  looking  at  me  earnestly,  said,  "  God  bless 
you, -my  child  :  don't  think,  but  pray  : — now  go." 

It  was  an  extremely  pretty  pony  chaise  certainly — very 
-low,  very  light,  and  roomy ;  too  roomy  to  admit  of  being 
drawn  by  the  little  forest  pony,  which  there  had  been  some 
notion  of  having,  in  order  to  save  the  tax.  Sorry  as  I  was 
to  leave  my  aunt,  I  was  not  insensible  to  the  pleasure  of 
driving  gaily  through  the  street,  with  the  knowledge  that 
not  only  the  children,  but  the  grown-up  people  I  met,  were 
likely  to  envy  me.  Particularly  I  enjoyed  stopping  at 
the  shops,  hearing  orders  given  to  the  shopmen,  who  came 
bowing  to  the  door ;  or  receiving  neat  parcels,  tied  up  in 
brown  paper,  which  were  to  be  stowed  away  upon  or  under 
the  seat.  There  were  a  great  many  of  them  I  thought ; 
but  then  we  were  living  in  the  country  now,  so  it  waa 
necessary. 


72  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

Uncle  Ealph's  was  the  last  place  we  went  to.  The 
old  house  had  been  slightly  repaired  and  modernized 
since  my  grandfather's  death  ;  not  sufficiently  indeed  to 
give  any  foundation  for  the  general  report  that  Mr.  Ralph 
Mortimer  was  going  to  be  married  ;  but  enough  to  make 
it  what  might  be  called  comfortable.  The  bank  almost 
joined  it ;  that  is,  it  joined  the  wall  of  the  garden,  from 
which  there  was  a  private  door  leading  into  the  counting- 
house.  My  father  told  a  boy  to  stand  by  the  pony,  and 
left  me  in  the  chaise,  whilst  he  went  to  speak  to  my  uncle. 
I  was  leaning  listlessly  back  in  the  pony  carriage  gazing 
upon  vacancy,  and  if  I  thought  at  all,  fancying  how  pleas- 
ant it  would  be  to  give  Hester  a  kiss  when  I  reached 
home,  when  a  gentleman  and  lady  rode  leisurely  up  the 
street.  They  did  not  particularly  attract  my  notice,  but 
the  lady  drew  in  her  horse  as  she  came  near,  and,  to  my 
surprise  and  pleasure,  I  was  addressed  by  Lady  Emily 
Rivers. 

She  made  many  kind  inquiries  after  my  aunt  and  my 
mother,  and  seemed  interested  in  hearing  that  I  was  going 
home,  and  hoped  to  see  me  there  soon ;  and  then  she 
turned  to  the  gentleman  and  introduced  him  as  Mr.  Riv- 
ers ;  and  he  too  said  he  intended  to  come  to  East  Side 
soon,  for  he  considered  now  that  we  were  near  neighbours. 
There  was  nothing  in  it  at  all  but  mere  civility,  yet  it 
charmed  me, — it  was  so  simple  and  hearty  ;  and  Mr. 
Rivers  looked  fit  to  be  the  husband  of  Lady  Emily,  with 
his  regular,  handsome  features  and  expression  of  honest, 
English  sincerity.  I  did  not  venture  to  say  much  in  re- 
ply, and  longed  for  my  father  to  come  to  my  assistance  ; 
but  as  I  turned  my  head  to  look  for  him,  when  Lady 
Emily  was  going  to  say  good-bye,  the  reins  which  I  held 
were  violently  jerked  from  my  hand,  and  the  pony  dashed 
down  the  street.  There  was  a  scream  from  the  bystand- 
ers —  a  rush  from  all  quarters  to  my  rescue.  I  saw  the 
danger,  yet,  strange  to  say,  I  alone  was  unmoved.  We 
were  nearly  at  th»  bottom  of  the  street ;  a  cart  was  stand- 
ing there ;  in  another  minute  I  should  be  thrown  against 
it.  I  prayed  that  God  would  save  me,  and  then  I  looked 
about  for  help.  It  was  very  near.  The  reins  in  falling 
had  caught  in  one  of  the  parcels  with  which  the  pony- 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  73 

chaise  was  crowded,  and  were  within  reach.  I  seized 
them,  with  my  strongest  effort  guided  the  pony  away  from 
the  cart,  and  we  passe'd  without  accident.  Immediately 
afterwards,  a  man  succeeded  in  stopping  the  animal,  and 
I  was  safe. 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  I  felt  how  frightened  I  had 
been  ;  and  when  my  father,  who  had  rushed  after  me,  took 
me  into  a  little  shop  and  made  me  sit  down,  I  felt  quite 
faint.  It  was  very  foolish.  I  knew,  and  I  was  heartily 
ashamed  of  myself,  and  apologised,  but  I  was  answered 
with  a  burst  of  praise.  I  had  shown  such  coolness,  such 
presence  of  mind — I  was  a  perfect  heroine.  Lady  Emily 
and  Mr.  Rivers  were  present ;  I  looked  at  the  former 
in  utter  amazement ;  she  was  terribly  pale ;  her  lips  were 
pressed  together  as  if  she  was  afraid  to  trust  herself 
to  speak,  but  she  bent  down,  and  said  as  she  kissed  me, 
"  Let  me  do  it,  I  am  so  infinitely  grateful.  I  was  the 
cause  of  it,  but,  next  to  4he  mercy  of  God,  I  may  thank 
you  for  your  own  safety." 

"  It  was  an  accident  which  might  have  happened  to  any 
one,"  said  Mr.  Rivers,  "  but  we  may  all  be  thankful  there 
is  no  mischief  Lady  Emily's  whip  touched  your  pony 
just  as  we  were  riding  off,"  he  added,  addressing  my  father^ 
"  and  at  the  same  moment  a  boy  crossed  the  street  with  a 
barrow,  and  the  animal  took  fright ;  but  there  was  nothing 
that  ought  to  have  startled  it  if  it  had  been  well  traified. 
Is  it  a  new  purchase  ?  "  "  Quite  new,"  my  father  r«plied  ; 
he  was  a  tolerable  judge  of  horses  himself,  and  he  had 
had  the  opinion  of  a  friend ;  he  could  not  believe  there 
was  any  thing  amiss.  Mr.  Rivers  doubted,  and  a  little 
more  conversation  upon  the  subject  followed,  which  gave 
me  time  to  recover  myself,  and  I  then  insisted  upon  enter- 
ing the  pony  chaise  again  and  being  driven  home.  Both 
Mr.  Rivers  and  Lady  Emily  were  urgent  against  this; 
and  I  could  see  that  the  pony's  character  was  much 
doubted.  Their  own  carriage,  they  said,  was  in  the  town  ; 
it  had  brought  the  governess  and  the  children  in,  and  it 
should  call  for  us,  for  East  Side  was  on  the  road  to 
Lowood.  But  my  father  would  not  hear  of  such  a  no- 
tion. He  was  much  obliged,  he  said,  but  I  was  too  brave 
to  be  made  cowardly  by  petting ;  and  if  I  liked  to  go 
4 


74  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

with  him  I  should.  I  went  to  the  door  of  the  shop,  ready 
to  set  off.  Lady  Emily  followed,  entreating  me  not  to 
venture  if  I  was  in  the  least  afraid,  and  assuring  me  that 
the  carriage  should  be  ready  for  me  instantly ;  but  I  was 
resolved.  I  will  not  say  that  there  was  nothing  of  vanity 
in  the  resolution,  but  there  was  also  a  real,  and  I  hope,  an 
innocent  pleasure  in  the  exercise  of  my  newly-discovered 
courage,  and"  a  sincere  wish  not  to  alarm  my  mother  by 
allowing  my  father  to  return  without  me.  Mr.  Rivers 
stood  by  the  pony  till  my  father  was  seated  by  me,  and 
Lady  Emily  gave  me  a  warm  shake  of  the  hand,  and 
wished  I  could  make  her  as  brave  as  myself,  and  we  drove 
off.  ... 

That  was  a  very  bright  evening  at  East  Side;  it 
stands  out  prominently  amongst  my  early  recollections  ; 
I  can  recall  my  mother's  kiss  of  deep  tenderness  as  she 
met  me  in  the  entrance-hall,  her  smile  of  half  fear,  half 
satisfaction,  as  our  little  adventure  was  repeated ;  the 
eagerness  of  my  elder  sisters  at  first  to  take  me  over  the 
house,  and  their  pause  of  wonder  when  my  father  bade 
them  make  much  of  me,  for  I  was  worth  something ;  with 
Reginald's  rather  scornful  proposal,  that  three  cheers 
should  be  given  for  the  new  heroine  ;  and  my  little  Hes- 
ter's whisper,  as  she  held 'my  hand  tight  in  both  hers,  that 
she  would  say  thanks  when  she  went  to  bed,  because  her 
ow%  Mammy  was  safe. 

It-  was  good  for  me  doubtless  that  I  was  not  the  only 
wonder  at  home. that  evening  or  the  next  day.  East  Side 
was  new  again  to  every  one  else,  as  soon  as  it  was  new  to 
me,  and  the  whole  family  followed  me  from  room  to  room 
to  hear  my  remarks. 

It  was  impossible  not  to  be  pleased  with  the  place  . 
the  situation  was  lovely,  commanding  a  view  of  the  town, 
sufficiently  near  to  give  interest  without  disagreeable  de- 
tails, and  overlooking  the  rich  country  beyond,  with  the 
silvery  line  of  the  river  to  brighten  it ;  and  as  regarded 
the  size,  the  very  genius  of  Prudence  herself  must  have 
been  lenient  in  criticising  it,  for  it  was  exactly  suited  to 
us.  The  house  was  of  stone,  with  a  front,  three  windows 
wide,  and  two  small  projecting  wings.  There  was  a  very 
£air  sized  drawing-room  with  a  bow  window,  containing  a 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LirE.  75 

comfortable  mixture  of  the  old  furniture  of  Castle  House, 
and  two  or  three  plain,  but  really  good  additions  of  a 
more  recent  date.  The  dining-room  which  adjoined  it  was 
a  little  larger ;  whitewashed,  because  a  part  of  the  en- 
trance passage  had  been  taken  into  it,  but.  likely  to  make 
a  very  useful  room.  On  the  other  side  of  the  passage 
was  a  room  which  might  be  library,  breakfast-room,  or 
school-room,  as  required  ;  and  a  small  study,  sufficient  for 
my  father's  papers,  and  a  refuge  for  him  when  he  wished 
to  be  quiet.  .My  mother  pointed  this  out  to  me  with  the 
greatest  satisfaction,  for  it  was  so  hard  for  him,  she  said, 
to  have  no  room  for  his  books,  and  in  which  he  might  see 
people  alone.  I  looked  at  her  thin  face,  and  wondered 
what  shelter  she  had  provided  for  herself,  but  that  was 
the  last  thought  that  ever  would  have  entered  her  mind. 
But  the  bedrooms  were  the  great  comfort ;  they  were  so 
many  and  so  well  contrived,  giving  plenty  of  space  for 
every  one,  and  leaving  a  spare  room  for  a  visitor.  My 
father  made  me  remark  this  now,  and  whispered  some 
thing  to  my  mother  which  caused  her  to  smile,  and  T 
thought  I  heard  the  names  of  Mrs.  Colston  and  Horatia 
Gray.  I  was  taken  to  my  own  room  last ;  two  beds  were 
in  it.  "  For  Hester  and  you,"  said  my  mother ;  and  the 
child  squeezed  my  hand,  and  told  me  she  had  lain  awake 
a  whole  hour  the  night  before  longing  for  me.  ''And 
there  is  a  small  dressing-room  within,  Sarah,"  added  my 
mother,  opening  a  door.  My  dear  mother,  how  she  had 
thought  of  and  cared  for  me  !  My  own  prints,  my  books, 
my  small  vase  of  flowers  standing  on  a  little  table  which 
had  been  a- legacy  from  a  godmother; — I  was  at  home  in 
it  at  once ;  and  as  I  looked  round,  aunt  Sak'ah's  words 
recurred  to  me,  "  Sally,  your  mother  rests  upon  you,  you 
can't  mean  to  fail  her." 

I  went»to  bed  that  night  with  a  new  spirit  infused  into 
me.  My  thoughts  were  not  of  myself,  but  of  others — 
how  I  would  work,  strive,  live  for  those  whom  Grod  had 
given  me,  die  for  them  if  need  were,  and  He  called  me  to 
it.  I  gazed  at  my  sallow,  sickly  features,  marked  with 
the  traces  of  that  physical  weakness  wjiich  had  so  often 
made  me  sit  down  in  despair,  and  I  smiled,  for  I  had  been 
told  that  I  was  brave,  and  I  felt  within  myself  that  the 


76  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LJFE. 

words  were  true.  The  next  instant  I  saw  tliat  I  was  pre- 
sumptuous, and  I  knelt  to  repeat  again  the  prayer  which 
was  becoming  my  watchword  against  evil :  "  Lord,  be  Thou 
my  light  and  my  salvation,  then  shall  I  not  fear  :  be  Thou 
the  strength  of  my  life,  then  shall  I  not  be  afraid." 

I  was  walking  round  the  garden  at  eight  o'clock  the 
next  morning  with  my  father.  He  was  very  desirous  that 
I  should  see  the  place  thoroughly,  and  give  my  opinion 
upon  the  improvements  he  was  planning — perhaps  I  ought 
more  strictly  to  say,  agree  with  him  as  to  their  necessity  ; 
for  nothing  would  have  surprised  and  annoyed  him  more, 
than  to  receive  the  least  hint  that  his  notions  were  either 
not  good  or  not  prudent ;  and  I,  of  course,  was  too  young 
to  suggest  any  thing  of  the  kind,  but  I  was  not  too  young 
to  feel.  Girls  of  fifteen  and  sixteen  are  much  deeper 
thinkers,  and  have  much  quicker  perception  than  the 
world  in  general  gives  them  credit  for  ;  and  though  my 
father  repeated  again  and  again,  "  You  see,  Sarah,  one 
must  do  the  thing  thoroughly  when  one  is  about  it — it 
will  never  do  to  have  all  this  fuss  of  labourers  and  work- 
men over  again," — I  still  was  perverse  enough  to  have 
a  lurking  doubt,  which  I  scarcely  realised  to  myself, 
whether  there  was  any  necessity  beyond  his  own  will. 

That  without  doubt  was  thoroughly  engaged  on  the 
side  of  improvement,  and  it  was  the  one  thing  which  sat- 
isfied me.  He  so  entirely  enjoyed  what  he  was  doing, 
that  he  was  quite  a  different  person — active,  cheerful,  and 
interested  in  every  thing  and  every  body  ;  the  change  to 
East  Side  seemed  to  have  given  him  new  faculties.  This 
could  not  but  please  me.  His  life  in  that  dining-room  at 
Castle  House  day  after  day,  the  study  of  the  newspapers, 
and  the  little  walk  into  the  town,  could  not  be  as  good  for 
him  as  this  healthy,  out-of-door  occupation ;  and  I 
heartily  agreed  with  him  that  we  should  all  b<>  very  much 
better  for  removing  to  the  country. 

I  had  a  long  conversation  with  my  mother  in  the 
course  of  the  day,  which  rather  damped  my  enjoyment. 
The  excitement  which  my  father  delighted  in  was  too 
much  for  her.  The  incessant,  petty  troubles  which  harass 
a  woman's  life,  and  of  which  men  know  little  or  nothing, 
had  been  patiently  borne  at  Castle  House,  because  they 


THE    EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  7^ 

had,  as  it  were,  fitted  themselves  into  their  place.  At 
East  Side  they  had  assumed  new  forms,  and  my  mother's 
gentle  spirit  was  unequal  to  cope  with  them.  She  was 
glad  I  was  come  back,  she  said,  for  many  reasons.  Cot- 
ton, the  new  housemaid,  objected  to  help  nurse  in  looking 
after  Herbert  and  Hester's  clothes.  It  was  not  men- 
tioned in  the  agreement  unfortunately,  but  it  had  always 
been  reckoned  upon  as  part  of  the  housemaid's  duty. 
Cotton  had  agreed  to  try  if  it  could  be  managed,  but  she 
was  sulky,  and  nurse  was  very  much  put  out,  and  talked 
about  having  a  girt  from  the  Carsdale  school  to  assist  her; 
"and  that  you  know,  Sarah,"  continued  my  mother,  "would 
be  an  increase  of  expense,  and  we  really  must  not  have  it. 
So  I  told  nurse  we  would  wait  till  you  came  home,  and 
then,  perhaps,  you  would  be  able  to  take  a  little,  of  the 
work  yourself;  or  at  least  you  would  look  after  the  chil- 
dren and  give  them  more  time.  Then  another  thing 
troubles  me.  Your  father  has  made  an  agreement  with  a 
man  about  the  garden :  he  is  to  give  him  low  wages  and 
let  him  dine  in  the  kitchen,  and  Drake  does  not  like  it, 
and  says  it  makes  the  kitchen  dirty,  and  will  be  more  ex- 
pense in  the  end ;  but  your  father  has  set  his  heart  upon 
ordering  all  out-of-door  matters,  so  I  can't  interfere." 
My  mother  paused :  she  had  kept  the  worst  grievance  till 
the  last.  "  One  more  thing,  Sarah  ;  I  don't  mean  to  find 
fault  I  am  sure ;  but  I  don't  think  dear  Joanna  quite  sees 
things  as  I  do :  very  naturally :  but  she,  and  indeed  Car- 
oline too,  have  such  a  notion  of  our  being  able  to  give 
dinner  parties.  Joanna  declares  we  must  do  it  if  we 
mean  to  have  any  society,  and  so  I  know  we  must ;  but 
then  I  want  them  to  wait.  We  must  learn  exactly  how 
matters  stand  with  the  bank,  before  we  incur  any  more 
expenses ;  and  I  can't  get  your  uncle  Ralph  to  settle  any 
thing.  I  don't  know  how  it  is ;  I  never  can  tie  him 
down  to  the  point,  and  yet  I  am  sure  there  are  great 
arrears  to  be  made  up."  My  mother  sighed  heavily.  I 
kissed  her,  and  called  her  my  sweet  mother,  and  told  her 
not  to  trouble  herself;  and  then  I  proposed  to  go  and 
talk  over  the  work-question  with  nurse,  and  suggest  to  my 
sisters  that  we  could  not  give  dinner  parties  till  the  dining- 
room  was  papered,  so  that  Joanna's  own  sense  might  tel] 


78  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

her  it.  was  nonsense  to  thmk  about  it  now.  My  mother's! 
face  brightened  at  the  latter  idea ;  it  was  tangible.  No, 
we  could  do  nothing  till  the  dining-room  was  papered,  and 
that  could  not  be  for  another  year,  and  in  that  time — 
My  mother  wandered  oflF  into  futurity,  and  I  went  to  my 
sisters. 

They  were  in  the  drawing-room.  A  pile  of  visiting 
cards  lay  on  the  table.  Caroline  was  arranging  them. 
"  We  may  as  well  put  them  in  order  at  once,"  she  was 
saying,  as  I  came  into  the  room ;  "  they  will  help  to  re- 
fresh our  memories,  and  we  must  keep  mamma  up  to 
returning  visits  regularly."  "  Yes,  indeed,"  replied  Joan- 
na ;  ''  it  never  will  do  to  go  round  once  a-year  as  we  used 
to  do;  and  when  we  begin  giving  parties  we  shall  be  in 
a  great  puzzle  if  we  are  not  careful.  We  are  just  as 
likely  as  not  to  ask  people  to  dine  whom  we  never  take 
the  trouble  to  call  upon."  ''  Not  very  likely  to  commit 
such  a  mistake  as  that,  I  hope,"  said  Caroline ;  "  at  least, 
while  I  am  at  home."  "  Which  will  be  for  many  years  to 
come,"  observed  Joanna.  "  We  shall  see,"  was  the  reply, 
and  Caroline  went  on  arranging  the  cards.  "  Carsdale 
to-morrow  !"  said  Joanna,  •'  one  would  cut  it  if  one  could; 
but  papa  talks  so  much  about  old  friends."  "  We  must 
not  make  ourselves  absurd,"  observed  Caroline,  shortly ; 
"  living  at  East  Side  won't  give  us  better  society  all  at 
once."  "Then  what  does  it  give  us?"  asked  Joanna, 
opening  her  lovely  blue  eyes  in  astonishment.  "  The 
means  of  obtaining  it,",  said  Caroline,  "  if  we  make  good 
use  of  our  opportunities.  It  is  mere  folly,  Joanna,  to  run 
on  as  you  'do  about  dinner  parties  and  society.  They 
will  all  come  by  and  by,  but  this  is  not  the  moment  for 
teazing  my  father  and  mother  about  them."  "  Oh  !  thank  . 
you,  Caroline,"  I  exclaimed,  coming  forward ;  but  I  was 
stopped  in  the  middle  of  my  sentence  by  Caroline's  smile 
of  wonder.  "  You  here,  Sarah,  i%  dear !  We  tiiought 
you  were  in  the  school-room.  What  do  you  thank  me 
for?"  I  blushed  and  hesitated.  "  For  saying  there  are 
to  be  no  dinner  parties?"  asked  Caroline,  patronizingly; 
"  but  you  need  not  distress  yourself,  my  poor  child  ;  they 
won't  be  for  you  for  many  a  long  day."  She  turned 
away  from  me  and  went  on  with  her  lecture.      "  You 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  79 

know,  Joanna,  nothing  can  be  so  silly  as  doing  things  ife- 
fore  the  time.  Do  you  remember  the  Pocockes,  Mrs. 
Blair's  relations  ?  How  the  girls  at  school  quizzed  them, 
because  directly  they  got  their  money  they  set  up  a  splen- 
did carriage,  and  two  smart  footmen,  in  fine  liveries.  Peo- 
ple said  it  would  have  come  all  very  well  by  degrees,  but 
the  change  was  too  sudden..  Now,  I  don't  at  all  want 
the  same  remarks  to  be  made  'upon  us.  As  some  one,  I 
forget  who,  was  remarking  to  me  the  other  day, — it  is  not 
what  persons  do,  but  when  they  do  it,  which  is  of  conse- 
quence in  the  world."  Joanna  was  silenced,  but  she 
pushed  the  visiting  cards  pettishly  aside  and  walked  out 
of  the  room.  Caroline,  quite  undisturbed,  collected  them 
together  again,  made  me  read  the  names  over,  and  wrote 
them  down  on  a  slip  of  paper,  in  the  order  in  which  the 
visits  were  to  be  returned.  It  seemed  a  good  opportunity 
of  giving  some  of  my  mother's  suggestions,  and  I  ob- 
served that  it  was  vexing  of  Joanna  to  make  such  a  fuss 
about  parties,  when  every  one  was  so  busy.  "  Yes,  vex- 
ing if  one  chose  to  be  vexed  about  it,"  replied  Caroline, 
indifferently ;  "  but  Joanna  is  one  of  those  persons  whom 
it  is  never  worth  while  to  trouble  about.  It  is  very  easy 
to  put  her  aside."  "  But,  indeed,  Caroline,"  I  replied, 
"  if  you  would  talk  to  her  a  little,  and  bring  her  round,  it 
would  be  a  great  comfort  to  mamma."  Caroline  inter- 
rupted me : — "  My  dear  little  preacher,  what  is  the  use  of 
talking  to  people  who  won't  listen  ?  Besides,  Joanna  is 
not  so  very  wrong ;  we  must  have  parties  by  and  by. 
Just  go  back  to  the  school-room  and  learn  your  lessons, 
and  leave 'Joanna  and  me  to  settle  our  own  affairs." 

Certainly  there  was  no  use  in  talking  to  people  who 
would  not  listen.  I  went  away.  In  the  passage  I  met 
my  father,  who  asked  if  I  would  go  with  him  into  the 
garden  ;  he  was  just  marking  out  some  flower  beds,  and 
he;  should  like,  he  said,  to  hear  what  we  all  thought  of 
them  before  they  vere  finished.  I  threw  my  apron  over 
my  head  instead  of  a  bonnet,  took  a  parasol  which  was 
lying  on  the  hall  table,  and  followed  him.  The  new  gar- 
dener was  waiting  for  us  on  the  lawn,  spade  in  hand.  He 
was  an  extremely  untidy-looking  man,"  and  I  did  not  ai 
all  wonder  at  Drake's  dislike  to  having  him  in  the  kitchen 


80  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

'W'Tiilst  my  father  was  planning  shaj^s,  cutting  off  corners^ 
sharpening  angles,  and  measuring  distances,  I  stood  by, 
thinking  of  my  mother's  annoyance.  My  father  was  a 
great  deal  too  busy  to  remark  what  I  did ;  and  as  for  my 
opinion,  he  never  thought  for  a  moment  of  asking  it ;  so  I 
stood  by  him  patiently,  longing  for  the  gardener  to  be 
away,  that  I  might  have  an  opportunity  of  saying  what 
was  in  my  mind.  The  man  did  go  after  a  little  while. 
A  large  bell  rang,  in  true  country  style,  and  the  servants 
were  summoned  to  their  dinner.  There  could  not  have 
been  a  happier  opportunity.  He  was  scarcely  out  of 
sight,  when  I  exclaimed  :  "  Oh  !  papa  !  that  dirty  man  ! 
he  is  not  going  to  dine  in  the  kitcken !  Drake  never  will 
bear  it."  "  Drake  will  bear  whatever  she  is  told  to  bear, 
my  dear,"  said  my  father  abruptly,  "  or  she  will  not  live 
with  me."  Again  silence  was  my  refuge.  I  lingered  for 
a  few  moments  not  to  show  my  annoyance  ;  and  then  say- 
ing that  I  must  go  and  see  about  the  children's  dinner, 
walked  slowly  and  disconsolately  into  the  house. 

Luncheon  was  ready ;  but  no  one  was  ready  for  it. 
My  father  never  ate  luncheon  ;  my  mother  was  often  lat«, 
often  busy  with  letters ;  and  Caroline  and  Joanna  had 
generally  something  to  occupy  them  at  that  hour,  more 
than  at  any  other  time :  and  the  children — it  was  their 
dinner ;  they  ought  to  have  been  ready,  unquestionably. 
The  meat  was  growing  cold  ; — I  went  up  stairs  to  call 
them,  and  met  them  half-way,  rushing  down  at  full  speed. 
They  raced  into  the  dining-room  and  seated  themselves 
in  their  high  chairs  ;  then,  with  a  look  of  shame,  jumped 
down  and  said  grace,  not  irreverently,  but  a  great  deal 
too  quickly.  Herbert  put  out  his  hand  to  take  some 
bread  ;  his  fingers  were  covered  with  ink.  Hester's  pina- 
fore, too,  was  very  dirty,  and  her  hair  untidy.  I  stopped 
Herbert  as  he  took  up  his  knife  and  fork,  and  told  him 
to  go  up  stairs  and  have  his  hands  washed.  "  Nurse  was 
not  up  stairs,"  he  said  ;  "  she  was  at  dinner  in  the  kitchen, 
and  he  could  Hot  get  the  ink  off  himself,  and  it  did  not 
signify ;  nobody  was  there  to  see."  "  Every  one  is  so 
busy  at  East  Side,"  said  Hester,  looking  up  at  me  as  if 
to  beg  me  not  to  be  angry.  Yes,  every  one  was  busy.  I 
began  to  have  a  perception  that  I  ought  to  be  busy  too ; 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  81 

though  it  might  not  be  in  the  way  of  teaching  either  my 
father  or  my  sisters  their  duty. 

I  took  both  the  children  up  stairs  myself:  a  littlt 
rubbing  made  Herbert's  hands  at  least  passable :  and  a 
brush,  and  a  clean  pinafore,  converted  Hester  again  into 
what  she  was  by  nature,  a  very  nice-looking  child.  My 
niBxt  inquiry  was  about  lessons.  Little  enough  had  been 
done  since  the  removal  to  East  Side.  "  Papa  never  has 
time  to  hear  me  my  Latin,"  said  Herbert.  "  And  mam- 
ma told  us  we  need  not  trouble  about  lessons  till  you 
came  home,"  observed  Hester.  "  And  you  have  not  done 
any  then,  since  I  went  away  ?"  I  asked.  "  No,"  answer- 
ed Hester  :  "  Joanna  was  going  to  hear  me  one  day,  but 
she  had  a  headache  :  I  don't  think  she  likes  lessons." 
"And  Caroline  made  me  say  ^Propria  quce,  niaribus^ 
twice,"  continued  Herbert,  "  and  she  said  I  said  it  very 
badly ;  and  I  was .  to  have  another  lesson,  but  I  never 
did."  It  was  clear  that  my  authority  in  the  lesson  de- 
partment, at  any  rate,  was  not  likely  to  be  disputed ;  so 
I  made  the  children  bring  their  books  to  me  after  dinner, 
and  we  sat  down  together,  and  I  made  out  a  little  plan  for 
them — what  they  were  to  do  each  day,  and  at  what  hour; 
and  in  the  middle  of  it  my  mother  came  in  to  luncheon, 
and  kissed  me,  and  said  I  was  a  comfort  to  her  ;  and  for 
the  time  my  spirits  revived. 

But  the  recollections  of  the  day  were  very  unsatis- 
factory when  I  went  to  my  room  at  night.  What  was 
the  use  of  making  Herbert  and  Hester  go  right  when 
everything  else  was  going  wrong?  I  thought  over  the 
evening,  how  worn  my  mother  looked  when  Joanna,  with 
her  very  bad  taste,  would  bring  up  again  the  dreaded  sub- 
ject of  the  dinner  parties  ;  and  how  very  unpleasant  Caro- 
line's manner  was, — so  imperious,  it  quite  seemed  to  crush 
my  dear  mother  ;  and  there  was  Yaughan's  dandyism  also, 
which  had  induced  my  father  to  speak  to  him  sharply 
and  make  him  sulky ;  to  say  nothing  of  the  little  in- 
stances of  Reginald's  cautious  eye  to  hi*  own  interest, 
which  showed  themselves  continually.  - 1  began  to  think 
that  large  families  were  trials  both  in  what  they  did  and 
what  they  did  not  do.  But  it  was  the  being  left  to  my- 
self which  troubled  me  the  most.     If  I  had  been  called 


82'  THE    EXrERIENCE    OP    LIFE. 

upon  to  teacli  in  a  school  or  do  any  definite  work,  I 
thought  I  could  have  undertaken  it  willingly ;  but  this 
unsettled  position,  nothing  iparked  out,  no  duties  but 
those  which  I  chose  for  myself,  and  no  one  to  say  whether 
T  did  them  well  or:  ill, — the  life  of  a  housemaid  I  thought 
would  be  preferable. 

That  was  my  second  day  at  East  Side ;  my  spirits 
and  my  tone  of  mind,  it  will  be  seen,  were  variable  as  the 
winds.  I  make  no  excuses  for  myself.  I  was  not  well 
and  strong,  there  might  have  been  something  in  that ;  but 
my  character  was  in  a  transition  state,  and  there  was  the 
great  cause  of  the  evil.  The  third  day  came  a  visitor, 
Lady  Emily  Rivers, — almost  a  visitor  to  me,  for  she 
begged  particularly  to  see  me.  I  had  a  little  dread  of 
being  obliged  to  act  the  heroine  again,  for  I  was  begin- 
ning to  be  rather  ashamed  of  the  "  much  ado  about  no 
thing,"  especially  since  Reginald  had  quizzed  -me  so  un- 
mercifully. But  Lady  Emily  had  excellent  taste,  she 
never  was  personal  in  her  remarks,  even  to  a  child  ;  and 
we  talked  about  the  pony  and  the  pony  chaise,  and  roads, 
and  distances,  with  scarcely  any  reference  to  myself.  Lo- 
wood  was  within  a  walk  for  ordinary  people,  and  Lady 
Emily  asked  me  to  come  over  and  see  her  the  first  day  I 
could ;  and  when  my  mother  excused  me  on  the  score  of 
not  being  strong  enough,-  she  gave  me  one  of  her  bewitch- 
ing smiles,  and  hop'ed  the  pony  would  bring  me  safely, 
Another  request  was  on  her  lips,  but  she  did  not  make  it 
then ;  she  would  not  have  given  my  mother  the  pain  of 
refusing  before  me,  if  it  had  been  necessary ;  but  in  the 
course  of  the  next  day,  a  note  came  with  a  request  that  I 
might  be  allowed  to  dine  and  sleep  at  Lowood  the  follow- 
ing Monday ;  if  so,  Lady  Emily  would  come  herself  and 
fetch  me,  or  at  any  rate  send  the  carriage  for  me. 


CHAPTER   XI. 


LowooD  was  a  large,  square,  red-brick  house,  with  stone 
facings,  of  about  the  date  of  George  II. ;  its  principal  and 
indeed  only  ornaments  being  a  handsome  flight  of  wide 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE.  83 

stone  steps,  and  the  arms  and  crest  of  the  Rivers  family 
carved  in  stone  over  the  heavy  entrance  door.  The  house 
stood  rather  high,  with  a  sheet  of  water  in  front  and  some 
lovely  pleasure  grounds  extending  a  considerable  way  on 
one  side.  At  the  hack  was  a  small  but  very  picturesque 
park,  enclosing  the  ruins  of  an  old  castle,  and  encircled 
by  woods  of  large  extent.  The  grey  tower  of  the  village 
church  was  seen  half  hidden  by  trees,  close  to  the  park 
gate ;  and  the  parsonage,  a  modern  house,  slightly  goth- 
icised,  immediately  adjoined  it,  forming,  in  spite  of  its 
red  brick  walls,  a  very  pretty  object  from  the  creepers 
myrtles,  and  deep  crimson  roses,  which'  in  the  course  of  a 
few  years  had  contrived  to  cover  it. 

How  like  a  hundred  other  houses  and  villages  in  Eng- 
land to  the  common  eye !  how  unlike  every  other  place 
which  memory  can  paint  or  imagination  conjure  up,  to  mine ! 
I  stood  in  the  hall  at  Lowood  for  the  first  time,  alone ; 
Lady  Emily  had  been  detained  at  home  unexpectedly  by 
letters,  and  was  not  able  to  come  to  East  Side  for  me  her- 
self. I  was  very  nervous  ;  the  drive  had  given  me  time 
to  conjure  up  a  host  of  fears,  and  they  were  not  diminished 
by  the  sight  of  the  tall  footman  who  appeared  at  the  door, 
and  assisted  me  out  of  the  carriage.  Small  as  I  was,  I 
felt  dwindled  to  an  absolute  atom,  as  I  followed  him 
across  the  great  marble  hall  and  through  a  passage  of 
seemingly  immeasurable  length  to  the  drawing-room.  A 
very  cheerful  room  it  was,  crowded  with  furniture  ;  choice 
pictures,  cabinets,  and  books  in  profusion  ;  and  the  view 
from  the  three  lofty  windows  over  the  garden  and  across 
the  water  to  the  distant  country  was,  for  every-day  enjoy- 
ment, as  pleasant  as  it  was  possible  to  desire.  But  what 
the  room,  or  the  view,  what,  in  fact,  any  thing  was  like, 
just  then,  I  had  not  the  most  remote  idea.  I  saw  nothing 
but  Lady  Emily,  who  was  writing  a  letter  with  her  back 
to  the  door,  and  to  whom  I  dreaded  to  make  myself  known. 
The  servant  repeated  my  name,  and  she  started  up,  pushed 
aside  the  paper,  came  up  to  me,  and  my  shyness  was  over.' 
Who  could  shrink  from  those  soft  tones  of  welcome,  that 
fascinating  smile  of  cordial  pleasure,  those  words  of  kind- 
ness, of  which  it  was  impossible  to  doubt  the  sincerity  1  Can 
it  be  merely  the  dream  of  years,  magnifying,  to  increase  its 


84  THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE. 

regrets  for  tlie  past,whicli  bids  me  look  around  the  world 
now,  and  sigh  that  there  are  none  like  her  ? 

Lady  Emily  made  me  wai^  down  stairs  till  she  had 
finished  her  letter ;  she  would  not  treat  me  as  a  stranger, 
she  said  ;  and  she  begged  me  to  unfasten  my  bonnet,  and 
gave  me  a  book  which  she  thought  would  amuse  me,  and 
so  a  quarter  of  an  hour  passed.  Then  it  was  nearly  lun- 
cheon time,  and  telling  me  that  Mr.  Rivers  scolded  her 
for  being  always  late,  she  hurried  me  to  my  room,  helped 
me  to  arrange  my  dress,  and  when  I  was  ready,  went  gaily 
before  me  down  the  broad  but  shallow  oak  stairs,  stopping 
on  the  way  to  tell  me  again  how  kind  she  thought  it  of 
my  mother  to  spare  me  to  her. 

We  went  into  the  dining-room,  an  oblong  apartment 
with  three  windows  in  it,  and  very  like  the  drawing-room , 
which  might  have  made  a  very  good  drawing-room  in  fact, 
if  it  had  been  differently  furnished,  and  looked  to  the 
south-east  instead  of  the  north-west.  Mr.  Rivers  was 
there,  with  the  governess,  and  two  children ;  the  eldest  a 
girl  about  eight  years  of  age,  the  other  a  boy  of  six.  Mr. 
Rivers  was  very  polite,  but  rather  grave,  the  governess 
excessively  quiet,  the  children  full  of  wonder  at  the  sight 
of  a  stranger.  I  began  to  feel  nervous  again  ;  the  chairs 
were  so  heavy  they  were  quite  cumbrous  to  move ;  and 
the  knives  and  forks  were  particularly  large  and  awkward 
to  handle  ;  and  when  the  covers  of  the  dishes  were  taken 
off,  I  could  not  quite  tell  whether  the  meat  was  beef  or 
mutton,  and  could  only  make  a  choice  by  saying  "  Some 
of  that  if  you  please ;"  and  then  the  footman  handed  me 
vegetables,  and  in  helping  myself,  I  spilt  some  on  the 
floor.  I  dare  say  Lady  Emily  did  not  guess  what  I  was 
feeling,  but  luncheon  was  certainly  a  penance.  If  I  had 
been  six  years  old  it  would  not  have  signified,  but  at  six- 
teen it  was  too  absurd  not  to  be  more  at  my  ease. 

I  was  to  see  tile  grounds  in  the  afternoon.  Lady  Emily 
said,  and  we  must  walk  into  the  village  if  it  would  not  be 
too  much  for  me-;  and  when  luncheon  was  over  we  went 
up  stairs  again  to  get  ready.  I  heard  the  hall  bell  ring 
whilst  I  was  putting  on  my  bonnet,  and  dreaded  visitors ; 
but  I  had  not  caught  the  sound  of  a  carriage,  and  I  thought 
It  better  to  venture  down.     I  met  the  governess  and  the 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  85 

children  in  the  passage  by  the  drawing-room,  and  heard 
that  some  oner  was  come,  "  they  did  not  know  who,  but  it 
was  very  provoking,  mamma  would  be  kept  so  long  ;"  and 
the  governess,  seeing,  I  suppose,  that  I  looked  shy  and 
uncomfortable,  proposed  that  I  should  go  into  the  garden 
with  them  and  walk  about  near  the  house  till  Lady  Emily 
was  at  liberty.  The  children  ran  up  and  down  the  straight, 
broad  walk,  forming  an  avenue  at  right  angles  with  the 
house,  and  the  governess  and  I  walked  side  by  side,  say- 
ing what  a  fine  day  it  was,  and  how  pretty  the  grounds 
were,  and  how  much  pleasanter  it  was  to  live  in  the  coun- 
try than  the  town ;  and  the  governess  asked  me  how  far 
it  was  to  East  Side ;  to  which  I  replied  about  two  miles 
across  the  fields,  and  three  by  the  road ;  and  in  this  lively 
conversation  we  indulged  for  about  ten  minutes,  when  we 
saw  Lady  Emily  and  two  ladies  come  out  of  the  house, 
and  walk  towards  a  path  which  led  by  a  short  way  through 
the  shrubbery  to  the  village.  They  were  approaching  us, 
and  I  drew  back,  and  being  screened  by  the  shade  of  a 
large  Portugal  laurel,  was  not  seen.  But  I  had  a  full 
view  of  all  three  myself.  By  Lady  Emily's  side  walked 
Miss  Cleveland,  bright,  fresh,  and  wrinkled — a  complete 
winter  rose ;  her  flaxen  hair  carefully  arranged  in  firm, 
close  curls  around  her  face,  her  straw  bonnet  elaborately 
ornamented  with  blue  and  brown  ribbons,  and  a  light  Mal- 
tese shawl,  showing  very  much  to  advantage  upon  a  laven- 
der-coloured silk  dress.  A  little  in  front,  the  path  being 
too  narrow  to  admit  of  three  persons  walking  together, 
came  a  lady,  who  might  have  been  six  and  twenty,  eight 
and  twenty,  or  even  thirty  years  of  age.  Perhaps  the  cor- 
rect conclusion  would  have  been  six  and  twenty.  My 
first  impulse  on  seeing  her  was  to  turn  to  my  companion 
with  the  exclamation,  "  how  extremely  handsome  !"  but  a 
second  glance  checked  me.  Yet  it  was  a  very  striking 
face ;  the  features  rather  large,  but  all  good  ;  there  was  a 
high  forehead,  not  very  projecting,  but  from  its  squareness 
giving  firmness  to  the  shape  of  the  face  ;  a  long,  not  too 
long,  nose  ;  a  very  well-formed  mouth,  perhaps  rather  too 
large,  but  showing  within  a  row  of  white  and  even  teeth ; 
raven-black  hair,  glossy,  and  braided  so  smoothly  that  noi 
a  hair  was  out  of  place  ;  and — I  have  kept  the  distinguish- 


86  THE    EXrERIENCE    OF 'LIFE. 

ing  mark  purposely  to  the  last — a  most  marvellous  pair  of 
black  eyes.  I  can  describe  them  only  by  the  word  which 
was  afterwards  used  in  speaking  of  them  to  me ; — they 
were  strong  eyes  ;  deep,  piercing,  glittering  ;  seeing  every 
thing  at  every  moment ;  conscious  of  all  things  external ; 
equally  conscious  of  every  thing  internal ;  an  actual  em- 
bodiment of  mind,  vivid,  energetic,  resolute,  bold  ; — but  I 
will  not  forestall ;  I  may  not  have  seen  then  all  that  I 
think  I  can  remember.  The  pictures  of  our  first  inter- 
view and  our  last  with  our  dearest  friend  or  our  greatest 
enemy,  would  probably  represent  two  utterly  distinct  in- 
dividuals. But  one  impression  I  know  never  altered  ;  it 
was  that  of  the  rustling  nature  of  the  lady  before  me ; 
her  silk  dress  rustled  I  am  sure,  it  was  impossible  that  it 
'should  not — rich,  and  smooth,  and  lined,  and  flounced  as 
it  was  ;  and  her  bonnet  must  have  rustled  with  that  under 
sound  peculiar  to  a  new  bonnet  just  out  of  the  milliner's 
hands :  but  there  was  a  mental  rustling  also — a  murmur 
of  self-gratulation  upon  knowledge  of  the  world's  ways  and 
fitness  for  the  world's  gaze,  such  as  no  doubt  the  silk  dress 
and  the  bonnet  would  have  confessed  to  if  they  had  been 
gifted  with  the  power  of  speech.  I  did  not  say  "  how 
handsome,"  even  to  myself,  when-  Lady  Emily  and  her 
visitors  passed  by  me,  and  stood  for  a  few  moments  by  the 
closed  gate  at  the  end  of  the  path ;  but  I  watched  the 
firm  tread  of  the  stranger,  without  once  withdrawing  my 
eyes,  and  when  she  spoke,  I  heard  every  word  of  the  full- 
sounding  voice,  and  remembered  what  was  said  as  if  it  had 
been  addressed  to  myself : — "  Thank  you — you  are  very 
kind,  but  I  had  better  not  intrude  upon  my  poor,  little 
cousin  just  now,  I  shall  have  many  opportunities  of  making 
her  acquaintance."  Miss  Cleveland,  I  thought,  would  have 
spoken,  but  no  opportunity  was  given  her.  As  Lady  Em- 
ily opened  the  door,  the  stranger  stood  back  with  an  air 
so  decided,  that  Miss  Cleveland  was  forced  to  go  forward, 
and  then  I  heard  the  last  words,  "  Yes,  we  are  going  into 
the  town,  I  have  made  Miss  Cleveland  trust  herself  to  me, 
for  I  have  been  accustomed  to  drive  all  my  life,  and  we 
have  some  shopping  to  do  ;  a  little  housekeeping.  In 
small  households,  you  know,  shopping  is  an  amusement  as 
well  as  a  business."     The  garden  door  was  closed.     Lady 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  87 

Emily  came  slowly  up  the  walk,  looking,  I  thouglit,  some- 
what discomposed.  I  had  a  longing  to  know  who  the 
stranger  was  ;  the  words  "poor  little  cousir^"  had, struck 
me  personally.  I  knew  they  could  not  apply  to  myself, 
but  it  was  just  the  way  in  which  I  was  sure  I  might  be 
mentioned  of.  .  Lady  Emily  made  no  remark  upon  the 
visitors,  though  she  said  she  was  sorry  to  have  kept  me 
waiting,  and  we  set  off  for  our  walk.  I  fancied  Lady  Em- 
ily was  a  little  inclined  to  be  silent ;  but  if  she  was,  she 
did  her  best  to  shake  off  the  feeling ;  and  as  we  wandered 
on  through  the  shrubbery,  she  pointed  out  the  rare  trees 
and  the  pretty  views,  and  gathered  several  choice  flowers, 
trying  at  the  same  time  to  make  me  at  home  with  her  and 
give  me  confidence  in  conversation  by  allusion  to  my  own 
home  and  daily  pursuits ;  whilst  every  now  and  then  she 
would  say  a  playful  word  to  the  children,  or  add  a  remark 
to  the  governess,  so  that  not  one  of  the  party  could  feel 
neglected.  An  English  shrubbery  has  always  had  a  pe- 
culiar charm  to  me. .  In  those  days  I  had  seen  very  few, 
and  the  grounds  at  Lowood  y*^ere  like  a  scene  of  enchant- 
ment to  me.  Vistas  of  green  lawn,  smooth  as  velvet,  lost 
beneath  the  shade  of  a  solitary  spreading  beech  or  ches- 
nut ;  gravel  walks  winding  amongst  thickets  of  delicate 
shrubs  ;  bright  colours  fixing  the  eye  on  the  precise  spot 
where  colour  was  most  needed,  or  leading  it  on  to  some 
beautiful  point  of  distance,  some  glimpse,  of  the  blue  sheet 
of  water,  or  some  opening  in  the  woods  ;  it  was  a  fairy 
land,  bright,  yet  withal  sad  and  restless,  as  all  beauty  naust 
be,  since  it  is  mourning  for  and  seeking  after  perfection. 

"  I  must  take  you  mfo  the  village,"  said  Lady  Emily, 
opening  a  little  gate  which  led  through  the  churchyard 
There  is  nothing  to  admire  in  it,  but  I  promised  to  look 
in  at  the  Dame-school  to-day."  I  followed,  without  much 
thought  where  I  might  be  led  ]  the  novelty  was  quite  suf- 
ficient to  charm  me.  An  ivy-covered  tower  was  the  most 
remarkable  object  about  the  church ;  and  there  were  also 
some  good,  decorated  windows  in  the  chancel ;  in  other 
respects  the  building  had  been  much  defaced  by  modern 
additions.  The  churchyard  was  kept  very  neatly ;  .that 
was  its  greatest  beauty.  ,  Once  there  must  have  been  a 
stone  cross  in  it ;  but  the  cross  itself  had  been  broken 


88  THE    EXPBRIENCE   OP    LIFE. 

down,  and  only  tlie  old  worn  steps  remained,  and  the  pe- 
destal, upon  the  top  of  which  was  a  sundial.  Lady  Emily 
looked  <it  the/jhurch  with  pride  and  pleasure.  "  It  is  such 
a  beautiful  old  tower,"  she  said,  "  there  is  not  another 
like  it  in  the  county.  We  mean  to  cut  down  some  shrubs 
in  the  plantation,  so  as  to  have  a  view  of  it  from  the 
house."  I  looked  also  and  admired.  The  windows  were 
pointed :  that  I  thought  was  all  that  was  required  for 
church  windows ;  and  the  ivy  over  the  tower  was  one  of 
the  most  picturesque  things  I  had  ever  seen.  One  of  the 
children  was  told  to  run  to  the  other  gate  and  ask  the 
sexton  for  the  key.  We  sat  down  in  the  poi-ch,  waiting 
for  it.  "  There  can  be  nothing  like  an  old  English  vil- 
lage church,  I  am  sure,"  said  Lady  Emily ;  "  nothing,  I 
mean,  which  has  the  same  effect  upon  the  mind,  I  do  so 
wonder  how  the  dissenters  bear  their  new  meeting-houses  ; 
they  must  miss  so  very  much  pleasure,"  Miss  Warner, 
the  governess,  suggested  that  it  must  be  the  spirit  which 
induced  the  erection  of  the  building  that  gave  it  the 
charm.  "  Yes,"  and  Lady  Emily  paused  :  "but  I  doubt 
if  I  could  ever  thoroughly  delight  in  a  new  church ;  or,  at 
least,  the  pleasure  would  be  of  a  very  different  nature." 
''  Different  in  kind,  but  equal  in  degree  probably,"  said 
Miss  Warner.  Her  tone  was  peculiar,  as  if  she  had  some 
meaning  understood  by  Lady  Emily  ;  but  whatever  she 
might  be  thinking  of  was  left  unexplained,  for  the  sexton 
and  the  child  just  then  appeared  with  the  keys.  "  We 
have  a  kind-hearted  old  rector,"  said  Lady  Emily,  as  the 
sexton  unlocked  the  door,  "  but  t\e  church  is  not  filled 
as  it  should  be.  The  farmers'  pews,  you  may  observe, 
take  up  a  good  deal  of  room."  No  doubt  they  did  take 
up  a  great  deal  of  room  ;  three  occupied  at  least  one  fourth 
of  the  nave.  "  But  it  is  a  large  church,  there  is  space  for 
two  hundred  more  than  actually  come  to  church,"  said 
Lady  Emily  ; — "  it  is  strange  the  people  should  be  so  car- 
ried away  by  dissent."  Miss  Warner  remarked  that  they 
felt  more  at  home  at  the  chapel ; — she  had  heard  them 
say  so.  "  I  don't  know  why  that  should  be,"  observed 
Lady  Emily  ; — "  the  church  was  the  home  of  their  fore- 
fathers, before  dissent  was  heard  of."  "  Dissenting  preach- 
ers are  energetic,"  said  Miss  Warner.     "  Yes,  yes,"  re- 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  89 

plied  Lady  Emily,  with  an  air  of  deep  thought ; — "  yes, 
they  are  energetic."  ''  They  talk  to  the  people  in  language 
than  can  be  easily  understood,"  continued  Miss  Warner. 
"  Yes,"  was  again  the  only  reply.  "  They  have  service  on 
other  days  besides  Sunday,  and  so  bring  religion  publicly 
into  the  affairs  of  the  week,"  said  Miss  Warner,  "  and " 

Lady  Emily  looked  up  quickly,  for  her  almost  hastily 

— "  they  mix  with  them  daily,  and  know  all  their  needs."* 
A  bright  smile,  yet  not  unmingled  with  melancholy,  stole 
over  Lady  Emily's  face,  as  she  said,  addressing  me,  "  We 
are  beginning  an  old  discussion :  Miss  Warner  pro- 
phesies that  all  the  religion  in  England  will  in  another 
fifty  years  be  found  amongst  the  dissenters ;  but  I  am  not 
going  to  tire  you  with  the  subject.  You  will  be  much 
better  engaged  in  looking  at  the  church,"  She  stood  in 
the  porch,  whilst  we  walked  round  the  building  ;  and  when 
we  returned  to  her,  we  found  her  conversing  with  a  short, 
portly,  elderly  gentleman,  dressed  in  black,  evidently  the 
rector  of  the  parish.  "  He  was  quite'flattered,"  he  said, 
"  that  she  had  been  doing  the  honours  of  his  church,  and 
hoped  it  had  been  properly  admired. — One  of  the  oldest 
churches  in  England,  they  say,"  he  observed,  speaking  to 
me  as  a  stranger — "  a  Saxon  foundation,  but  I  don't  pre- 
tend to  be  an  antiquarian,  A  most  picturesque  churc]^ 
tower  too, — magnificent  ivy, — a  perfect  tree.  Has  Lady 
Emily  shown  you  the  stem?"  We  walked  round  to  look 
at  the  enormous  ivy  trunk.  I  thought  Miss  Warner  kept 
a  little  aloof;  her  manner  induced  me  to  regard  our  new 
acquaintance  more  attentively.  He  was  a  handsome  man  ; 
his  nose  was  good,  his  forehead  was  higli,  his  mouth  ex- 
pressed great  benevolence :  his  appearance  struck  me  on 
the  whole  as  something  venerable.  He  talked  a  good 
deal,  rather  loudly,  wandering  from  one  subject  to  another 
without  much  connection,  and  what  he  said  did  not  give 
me  any  great  idea  of  his  intellect.  But  Lady  Emily  was 
so  respectful  and  deferential,  I  felt  he  must  be  something 
superior. 

As  he  stood  against  the  church  tower  fidgeting  with 
his  walking-stick,  and  sometimes  tapping  it  on  the  head 
of  a  tombstone,  Lady  Emily  made  some  inquiries  about  a 
sick  man.     "  Ah !  poor  old  John  !"  said  the  rector,  "  his 


90  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

work  is  done.  I  sent  him  some  broth  yesterday,  but  he 
could  not  eat  it.  He  will  never  want  much  more  in  this 
world.  But  perhaps  your  ladyship's  cook  may  be  more 
successful  than  mine."  "  We  will  try,"  said  Lady  Emily 
■ — "have  you  seen  him  to-day?"  "  Why,  no,  no  ;  I  saw 
him — let  me  see — Wednesday  week,  I  think;  his  wife 
sent  for  me.  I  never  thought  he  would  have  •  lived  till 
this  time.  Poor  old  John  ! — I  had  a  good  hearty  shake 
of  the  hand  from  him.  Well !  we  must  all  follow  some 
day  or  other."  "  Is  it  true,  Mr.  Graves,  that  the  dissent- 
ing minister  has  been  to  him  every  day?"  asked  Miss 
Warner.  "  Very  probably ;  those  fellows  get  about  every- 
where ; — but  I  must  wish  you  good  morning,  Lady  Emily. 
I  promised  Dame  Bartley's  lame  boy  the  first  handful  of 
gooseberries  I  could  gather ;  and  you  know,  a  parson,  as 
they  call  us,  must  not  break  his  word."  He  drew  from 
his  pocket  some  splendid  gooseberries,  which  Lady  Emily 
declared  far  surpassed  any  in  the  garden  at  Lowood ;  and 
then  made  his  bow,  and  walked  away,  an  inch  taller,  as  he 
declared,  for  the  compliment  to  his  horticultural  success. 
"  The  dissenters  are  indefatigable,"  said  Miss  Warner, 
when  the  rector  was  out  of  hearing.  Lady  Emily  walked 
on  as  if  she  did  not  hear. 

We  went  through  the  churchyard  into  the  village.  It 
was  a  pretty  village,  with  neat  cottages  and  gardens,  form- 
ing rather  a  long  street,  and  terminated  by  a  large  inn — 
''  the  Rivers'-  Arms,"  before  which  grew  a  splendid  elm 
tree.  But  the  most  prominent  object  was  the  dissenting 
meeting-house,  a  red  brick  building,  square  and  ugly,  to 
the  utmost  extent  of  ugliness,  and  bearing  upon  its  front, 
on  a  white  stone,  an  inscription,  recording  the  date  of  its 
erection,  only  two  years  previous.  A  handbill  against 
the  door  gave  notice  that  a  sermon  would  be  preached 
there  that  same  evening.  I  suppose  I  must  have  looked 
rather  intently  at  it,  for  Lady  Emily  noticed  the  direc- 
tion of  my  eye,  and  observed  with  the  same  half-melan- 
choly smile  which  I  had  before  remarked,  "  Mr.  Graves' 
abomination !  He  sometimes  tries  to  persuade  us  that 
our  leniency  is  the  reason  why  dissent  abounds  in  the 
parish.  He  says  if  he  were  the  squire  he  would  not  have 
a  tenant  on  his  estate  a  dissenter ;  he  would  turn  them 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  91 

all  out.  But  Mr.  Rivers  can  never  come  round  to  this 
view  of  treating  the  evil."  "  It  is  fortunate  he  does  not," 
remarked  Miss  Warner — •'  for  infallibly  he  would*  find 
two  new  dissenters  spring  up  for  every  one  that  he  eject- 
ed." I  thought  she  spoke  sharply,  and  not  quite  respect- 
fully, and  I  watched  Lady  Emily's  manner  as  she  replied. 
But  the  unfailing  gentleness  was  not  irritated.  "  It  is 
a  deep-rooted  evil,"  she  said  with  a  sigh — "  no  one  seems 
to  know  how  to  deal  with  it.  If  the  bad  people  in  the  par- 
ish were  dissenters  I  should  not  be  surprised ;  but  it  is 
the  best  who  are  led  away — the  neatest,  most  industrious, 
most  honest ; — I  can't  understand  it.  The  only  hopeful 
thing  in  the  place,"  she  added,  laughing,  "  is  our  little 
dame-school — the  thirty  children  who  we  are  sure  will  go 
to  church  on  the  Sunday."  "  Because  pains  arc  taken  with 
them  on  the  week  days,"  said  Miss  Warner.  "  Lady  Em- 
ily teaches  in  her  little  school  herself  once  a-week,"  she 
continued^  addressing  me,  "  and  she  allows  me  to  go  there 
once,  and  we  have  the  children  to  the  house  on  a  Sunday, 
to  hear  them  say  their  catechism  and  collects,  and  they 
go  from  thence  to  church.  It  would  be  hard  if  they  were 
to  turn  dissenters."  "  They  would,"  said  Lady  Emily — 
"  if  we  were  not  strict.  The  first  rule  they  are  called  up- 
on to  keep  is  that  of  attending  church."  "  A  rule  which 
would  have  excited  a  rebellion  in  the  village,"  said  Miss 
Warner,  "  if  Mr.  Graves'  advice  had  been  followed,  and  a 
law  enacted  that  no  child  who  came  to  the  school  should 
ever  attend  the  dissenting  meeting-house."  "  Mr.  Bivers 
saved  me  from  that  mistake,"  said  Lady  Emily.  "  I  saw; 
no  dijQference  myself  till  he  pointed  it  out  to  me  ; — and  I 
was  extremely  anxious  to  please  Mr.  Graves."  "  But  is 
there  any  difference?"  I  asked.  "  Is  it  not  just  the  same 
thing  in  the  end  whether  children  are  forbidden  to  attend 
the  dissenting  meeting-house,  or  whether  they  are  obliged 
to  go  to  church  ?"  "  Precisely  the  question  I  asked  my- 
self," replied  Lady  Emily  ;  "  so  I  will  answer  it  by  a  ques- 
tion which  Mr.  Bivers  put  to  me : — Is  there  not  a  consid- 
erable difference  between  attacking  our  neighbours  and 
strengthening  ourselves  ?"  I  did  not,  at  the  instant,  see 
the  application,  and  Lady  Emily  went  on.  "  By  attack- 
ing dissent  we  increase  it ;  that  I  have  learnt  by  experi- 


I« 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 


ence.  I  might  have  learnt  it  from  history, — the  history 
of  the  church,  if  I  had  ever  thought  as  I  ought  upoii  thd 
subject.  It  is  the  lesson  of  all  persecutions,  whether  on  a 
large  or  a  small  scale.  If  I  had  t6\d  the  people  that  they 
must  promise  never  to  take  their  children  to  a  meeting- 
house, they  would  have  refused,  for  the  mere  pleasure  of 
showing  they  had  a  will  of  their  own  ;  as  it  was,  they 
were  all  willing  to  say  they  should  go  to  church."  "  Then 
would  you  do  nothing  against  dissenters  ?"  I  asked,  in 
surprise : — "  would  you  let  them  all  have  their  own  way  ?" 
"  If  they  would  let  me  have  mine,"  said  Lady  Emily. 
"  Yes,"  exclaimed  Miss  Warner,  eagerly,  "  if  you  could 
carry  out  your  way,  with  proper  help — not  with  a  sleepy, 
droning  rector,  and  " — Lady  Emily  interrupted  her,  with 
more  of  severity  than  I  thought  she  could  have  assumed : 
"  Pardon  me  ;  we  will  leave  this  subject  for  the  present. 
Now,  Francis,  Alice,  who  will  reach  the  milestone  the 
first?"  And  as  we  stood  back  to  let  the  children  start 
on  their  run,  I  heard  Miss  Warner  say  to  Lady  Emily — 
"  I  was  very  wrong,  exceedingly  forgetful ;  I  trust  you 
will  excuse  it."  Lady  Emily  smiled,  and  held  out  her 
hand  in  token  of  peace,  but  I  fancied  she  looked  graver 
than  before. 

The  dame-school  was  held  in  a  good-sized  room  be- 
longing to  the  cottage  of  the  village  baker.  The  baker's 
wife  was  the  mistress,  a  tidy,  middle-aged  woman,  whose 
chief  fitness  for  her  office  appeared  to  consist  in  a  pair  of 
large  silver-mounted  spectacles,  which  gave  a  decidedly 
fierce  look  to  what  would  otherwise  have  been  a  meek  and 
lamb-like  countenance.  The  children  learnt  reading  and 
spelling,  writing  and  arithmetic,  and  the  church  catechism. 
The  girls  could  hem  and  sew  neatly,  and  the  boys  were 
taught  to  knit.  I  observed  that  their  reading  lesson  waa 
taken  from  a  little  book  upon  ordinary  subjects,  not  the 
Bible :  that  I  was  told  was  read  to  them  every  day.  Two 
or  three  of  the  elder  girls  were  trying  to  read  well  enough 
to  be  trusted  with  it  themselves,  but  this  was  not  to  be 
till  they  should  cease  to  require  an  actual  lesson. 

It  was  a  very  unpretending  little  school.  I  do  not 
know  that  there  was  any  thing  else  to  remark  in  it,  except 
perhaps  that  the  girls'  hair  was  particularly  neat,  and  cut 


\ 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP    LIFE.  93 

phort  behind;  but  one  thing  struck  me  in  Lady. Emily's 
way  of  talking  to  them.  No  one  would  have  supposed 
from  any  thing  she  said,  that  it  was  her  school,  founded, 
supported,  and  governed  by  her.  What  the  rector  would 
like,  and  what  he  would  think,  were  the  prominent  points 
in  all  she  said.  I  whispered  my  surprise  to  Miss  Warner, 
as  I  asked  whether  the  rector  really  took  such  a  great  in- 
terest in  the  school  ;  and  was  answered  by  a  sarcastic 
smile,  and  "  Lady  Emily  tries  to  believe  he  does.  She 
entices  him  here  once  a  week  by  conjuring  up  a  little  busi- 
ness to  consult  him  upon ;  and  then  makes  him  hear  the 
children  read.  It  keeps  up  appearances."  "  I  dare  say 
Mr.  Graves  would  have  looked  in  upon  you  himself  this 
afternoon,  Mrs.  Brown,"  said  Lady  Emily,  as  we  were 
going  away,  "  but  he  had  a  little  business  to  attend  to. 
He  promised  to  take  his  first  gooseberries  to  poor  little 
Tom  Bartley,  and  he  did  not  like  to  disappoint  him :  I 
wonder,  children,  whether,  when  you  grow  up  to  be  men 
and  women,  you  will  learn  to  keep  your  promises,  and  take 
trouble,  like  the  rector,  for  a  sick  child.  Don't  you  think 
it  was  very  good-natured  of  him  ?"  A  general  murmur 
of  approbation  ran  through  the  whole  school,  and  I  heard 
besides  a  whisper  from  one  or  two  of  the  elder  children, 
"  he's  a  very  kind  gentleman  always." 

We  returned  home  through  some  fields,  a  very  pretty 
country  walk,  which  brought  us  back  to  Lowood  by  a  lane 
opposite  to  the  gate  at  which  Miss  Cleveland  and  her  friend 
had  made  their  exit.  A  gentleman  and  a  servant  in  a 
gig  were  coming  down  the  road,  and  a  pony  chaise  was 
advancing  the  contrary  way.  We  stopped  in  the  lane  to 
let  them  pass.  "  That  must  be  Miss  Cleveland,"  said 
Lady  Emily,  looking  at  Miss  Warner ;  "  and  I  think," 
and  she  turned  to  me,  "  my  dear,  you  ought  to  know,  that 
gentleman  is  your  uncle,  surely  ?"  I  had  fancied  so  be- 
fore ;  my  uncle  Ralph's  peculiar  dress  was  not  easily  mis- 
taken. The  two  carriages  drew  up  just  before  us.  Lady 
Emily  appeared  embarrassed;  perhaps  she  thought  I 
should  like  to  speak  to  my  uncle,  but  that  was  the  last 
wish  which  ever  entered  my  head.  "  It  may  be  better  to 
wait,"  said  Lady  Emily,  in  an  apologetic  tone,  •'  as  I  saw 
Miss  Cleveland  just  now."     I  made  no  answer ;  the  sight 


94-  THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE. 

of  uncle  Ralph  riveted  my  attention,  it  always  did.  He 
threw  the  reins  to  the  servant  and  alighted.  "  Ah  !  Mr. 
Ralph,"  I  heard  Miss  Cleveland  say  in  her  sharp  little 
voice,  which  sounded  like  the  twang  of  a  treble  harp* 
string,  "  who  would  have  expected  to  meet  you  here,  awaj 
from  your  office  ;  not  five  o'clock  yet !"  "  Business,  my 
dear  madam,  business,"  replied  my  uncle — "  lady's  busi 
ness  too,"  he  added  with  a  smile  and  an  elaborate  bow 
The  pony  became  fidgety,  and  Miss  Cleveland  grew  fid 
gety  likewise.  "  Poor  little  thing  !  pretty  creature  !  quiet 
now,  quiet,"  said  my  uncle.  He  patted  the  pony  twice  as 
much  as  was  necessary.  "  Better  let  it  go,  Mr.  Ralph ; 
please  let  it  go,  it  wants  to  get  home."  "  It  will  stand 
perfectly  well  if  it  is  properly  managed,"  observed  the 
unknown  lady,  Miss  .Cleveland's  companion  ;  and  before 
my  uncle  could  prevent  her,  she  was  out  of  the  crrriage 
standing  by  the  pony's  head.  The  creature  became  quiet 
directly.  "  A  young  lady  who  can  manage  herself  and 
other  people  too,  I  perceive,"  said  my  uncle,  with  one  of 
those  strange  smiles  which  had  quite  as  much  malice  as 
sweetness  in  its  composition.  "  A  very  clever  young  lady, 
I  assure  you,  Mr.  Ralph,  an  acquaintance  of  yours,  or  who 
ought  to  be — a  relation ;  that  is,  a  connection  of  a  connec- 
tion— Miss  Horatia  Grray."  My  uncle's  hat  was  lifted 
from  his  head  with  an  air  of  the  most  profound. respect. 
I  do  not  know  what  he  said,  I  did"  not  listen.  I  do  not 
know  how  much  longer  they  kept  us  waiting  •in  the  lane. 
We  crossed  the  road  and  entered  the  shrubbery.  Lady 
Emily  took  me  up  stairs  to  my  room,  and  said  something 
about  dinner-time.  The  moment  she  had  left  me  I  gave 
vent  to  my  excessive  surprise  by  walking  up  and  down 
the  room  repeating  "  Horatia  Gray  !" 

My  cogitations,  if  such  they  may  be  called,  were  inter- 
rupted by  the  entrance  of  Cookson,  the  lady's  maid.  She 
was  come  to  offer  her  assistance,  she  would  be  happy  to 
dress  me  before  her  ladyship  was  ready,  if  it  was  not  in- 
convenient. My  heart  sank.  A  housemaid  would  have 
been  the  greatest  possible  comfort ;  I  could  have  made 
her  unpack  my  little  box,  and  prepare  the  few  things  I 
required  whilst  I  lay  down  on  the  sofa  to  rest  before  din- 
ner ;  but  this  black-haired,  black-eyed,  brilliant-complex- 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  95 

ioned  lady's  maid,  withi  her  smart  French  cap  and  her 
dress  the  very  perfection  of  neat  fashion,  what  could  I  do 
with  her  or  what  could  she  do  with  me?  "I  was  very 
much  obliged,"  I  said ;  "  very  sorry  to   trouble  her ;    I 

could  really  do  very  well ;  I '^     She  cut  short  my 

sentence  by  lifting  my  box  into  a  chair,  and  unfastening 
the  cord.  Very  silly  no  doubt  I  was  -then,  very  young 
also  ;  I  should  not  feel  the  same  now  if  a  regiment  of  lady's 
maids  were  ransacking  every  box  and  closet  in  my  house  ; 
but  at  that  moment  I  had  the  most  vivid  and  painful  per- 
ception of  all  the  little  economies  of  my  toilette  appara- 
tus. I  watched  her  as  she  took  out  one  by  one  a  number 
of  little  newspaper  parcels  containing  articles  which  should 
properly  have  been  placed  in  a  dressing-case  ;  and  as  she 
laid  them  on  a  table,  and  I  fancied  I  saw  something  like 
a  smile  pass  over  her  face,  it  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty 
I  could  prevent  myself  from  telling  her  instantly  to  leave 
me.  She  repeated  the  question,  would  it  be  convenient 
to  me  to  be  dressed  then  ?  I  had  not  the  courage  to  say 
no,  though  my  head  was  beginning  to  ache,  and  a  quarter 
of  an  hour's  rest  would  have  been  of  incalculable  service  ; 
so  I  seated  myeelf  in  a  chair  and  resigned  myself  to  the 
operation  of  having  my  hair  arranged.  How  I  longed  for 
a  book  !  it  would  have  been  an  excuse  for  silence.  Did 
lady's  maids  expect  one  to  talk  to  them  ?  What  ought  I 
to  say?  how  should  I  begin?  Her  nimble  fingers  had 
twisted  my  sandy  locks  into  innumerable  and  unimagina- 
ble plaits  and  bows  before  I  ventured  to  remark  that  the 
weather  was  very  fine.  "  Very,  ma'am  ;  have  you  been 
walking  far?"  The  tone  implied  a  decided  willingness 
for  conversation.  "Round  the  shrubbery  and  into  the 
village,  and  home  by  a  lane,"  I  replied.  "  Turnham  lane, 
opposite  the  green  gate,"  observed  the  communicative 
Cookson.  "  I  saw  my  lady  and  Miss  Warner  standing 
there  as  I  was  looking  out  of  the  blue-room  window." 
"  We  were  detained  by  carriages  in  the  road,"  I  said,  not 
at  all  knowing  how  to  pursue  the  conversation.  "  Oh ! 
yes,  ma'am,  I  saw  them  too — Miss  Cleveland  and  Miss 
Gray."  "  Miss  Grray !"  I  could  not  help  repeating  the 
name,  for  my  curiosity  was  excited.  "  Do  you  know  her  ? 
have  you  ever  seen  her  before,  I  mean  ?"     "  In  London 


96  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

many  times,  ma'am,  she  used  to  come  to  Eaton  Square 
with  Lady  Charlotte  Morton ;  that  is,  my  Lady's  sister, 
ma'am,  perhaps  you  know.  She  is  very  much  afflicted, — 
Lady  Charlotte ;  her  health  is  dreadful ;  a  widow  lady 
too  !  and  very  young  she  is  to  be  a  widow.  Miss  Gray 
used  to  be  with  her  as  a  companion  like ;  she  came  con- 
tinually last  spring  when  we  were  in  Eaton  Square."  -'But 
she  is  not  living  with  Lady  Charlotte  now,"  I  observed ; 
"  she  is,"  I  was  going  to  add,  '•  living  with  my  aunt ;" 
but  an  instinct  of  propriety  checked  me.  I  felt  that  the 
conversation  was  becoming  too  free  and  personal.  "  Miss 
Gray  is  a  very  civil-spoken  young  lady,"  continued  Cook- 
son.  "  People  said  she  had  a  temper,  and  that  she  went 
off  from  Lady  Charlotte  in  a  huff,  because  she  wanted  to 
have  the  upper  hand  ;  but  I  don't  pretend  to  know  about 

it.     She  and  Lady  Charlotte" I  could  bear  this  no 

longer  ;  but  rising  from  my  seat,  rather  to  the  detriment 
of  the  last  hair  pin,  which  Cookson  was  settling  in  its  po- 
sition, I  put  on  my  dinner  dress,  and  begged  her  to  be 
quick,  as  I  should  be  sorry  to  keep  her  from  Lady  Emily, 
and  the  first  bell  had  rung  some  minutes.  I  think  she 
had  tact  enough  to  perceive  that  I  was  not  inclined  for 
any  more  confidences  respecting  Miss  Gray.  She  cer- 
tainly dressed  me  speedily  and  pleasantly ;  and,  shall  I 
own  the  truth  ?  succeeded  in  gaining  my  kind  feeling,  if 
not  my  good  opinion,  by  observing  that  my  dress  was  so 
well  made,  she  should  have  thought  it  had  come  from 
London ;  and  then  white  always  looked  so  nice  for  young 
ladies. 

Dinner  was  by  no  means  as  alarming  an  undertaking 
as  luncheon.  I  was  prepared  for  the  size  of  the'  knives 
and  forks,  and  accustomed  to  the  sight  of  the  men-servants. 
Mr.  Rivers  talked  a  good  deal  and  very  agreeably ;  and 
once  or  twice  when  I  ventured  to  express  an  opinion,  or 
ask  a  question,  I  could  see  that  he  was  interested,  and 
took  trouble  to  explain  his  own  ideas  and  draw  out  mine. 
He  was  one  of  the  most  qalm-judging  men  I  ever  met. 
At  that  time  I  did  not  understand  my  own  impression 
if  him  ;  but  his  conversation  had  a  peculiar  effect  upon 
me.  It  gave  me  a  feeling  of  confidence,  the  same  kind  of 
satisfaction  to  the  moral  sense,  which  the  perception  that 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE.  97 

two  and  two  make  four  gives  to  the  mathematical  sense. 
Whatever  opinions  he  expressed  were  based  upon  incon- 
trovertible reasoning,  clear  and  extensive  as  well  as  deep ; 
and,  what  to  me  at  that  time  was  a  comfort  beyond  any 
thing  he  could  imagine — he  owned  that  upon  some  points 
he  was  contented  not  to  form  an  opinion ;  but  to  remain 
undecided,  it  might  be  for  years.  The  idea  was  very 
resting  to  my  restless,  eager,  hard-working  mind,  which 
would  think,  and  puzzle,  and  distress  itself,  because  the 
secrets  of  the  universe  were  not  revealed  to  it.  If  Mr. 
Rivers  could  remain  in  doubt  upon  the  social  and  political 
problems  which  were  brought  before  him  every  day,  I 
might  also  be  satisfied  to  have  some  religious  problems 
left  unsolved.  As  I  sai-d  before,  I  could  not  after  that 
first  day's  acquaintance  have  described  the  effect  of  Mr. 
Rivers'  character  upon  my  own,  but  I  can  trace  it  now  ; 
as  we  can  recall,  when  looking  upon  a  finished  picture,  the 
first  stroke  of  the  outline  which  gave  an  indication  of 
what  the  work  would  be. 

Lady  Emily  and  myself  sat  alone  in  the  drawing-room 
after  dinner ;  I  was  beginning  to  feel  so  much  at  home 
with  her,  that  I  thought  I  might  venture  to  ask  her  some 
question  upon  the  subject  which  was  so  much  in  my 
thoughts ;  and  after  a  pause  in  the  conversation,  I  broke 
the  silence  by  inquiring  whether  she  knew  how  long  Ho- 
ratia  Gray  had  been  staying  with  Miss  Cleveland.  Her 
reply  was  another  question,  put  rather  quickly.  "  Do  you 
know  her  so  well,  my  dear  ?  I  thought  you  had  never 
met."  "  We  always  call  her  Horatia  Grray,"  I  said ; 
"she  is  a  kind  of  cousin."  "Yes," — Lady  Emily's  face 
betrayed  dissatisfaction, — "  Miss  Cleveland  told  me  so  to- 
day." "  She  has  never  been  staying  with  us,"  I  continued. 
"  I  don't  think  any  one  has  ever  seen  her  except  mamma ; 
and  I  do  not  mean  that  she  is  a  real  cousin  :  she  is  a  step- 
niece  of  Major  Colston,  who  married  my  aunt."  Lady 
Emily  could  not  help  laughing.  "  My  dear  child,  if  you 
adopt  all  your  distant  connections,  you  will  have  a  family 
as  large  as  a  Scotch  clan.  But  do  you  then  really  know 
nothing  more  of  Miss  Gray  than  her  name  ?"  ^'  I  know 
that  my  aunt  is  very  fond  of  her,"  I  replied ;  "  and  I 
thought  Miss  Cleveland  did  not  like  her.  It  is  very  odd 
5 


98  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

that  she  should  be  staying  there,  and  my  aunt  not  have 
told  me  any  thing  about  it.  I  thought  Horatia  never 
left  her."  "  Mrs.  Colston  is  coming  to  Miss  Cleveland's 
next  week,  so  I  was  informed  to-day,"  said  Lady  Emily, 
and  then  she  paused  ;  and  my  curiosity  becoming  too 
great  for  my  prudence,  I  said,  "  Cookson  told  me  you 
knew  her."  Lady  Emily  evidently  strove  hard  to  repress 
a  rising  feeling  of  annoyance,  as  she  replied, — "  Cookson 
is  too  fond  of  gossiping.  Miss  Gray  was  eight  or  nine 
months  with  my  sister  in  London.  My  sister  required  a 
companion,  for  she  was  in  delicate  health  and  much  out  of 
spirits ;  but  they  did  not  quite  suit.  The  position  is  a 
very  difficult  one  for  both  parties."  Lady  Emily's  man- 
ner was  such  as  to  prevent  any  further  questions  ;  and  I 
was  heartily  vexed  that  I  had  alluded  to  the  subject ;  for 
T  felt  I  must  have  given  the  impression  of  having  encour- 
aged Cookson  in  her  idle  communications.  The  conver- 
sation flagged  after  this.  Lady  Emily  became  thoughtful, 
and  presently  left  the  room,  and  I  heard  her  say  to  Mr. 
Rivers,  whom  she  met  in  the  hall,  that  she  wished  to  speak 
to  him.  They  were  absent  for  ten  minutes  or  more  ;  tea 
was  brought  in,  and  Miss  Warner  made  her  appearance  at 
the  same  time,  and  tried  to  make  me  talk,  but  I  was  not 
inclined  to  say  any  thing  ;  and  I  did  not  very  much  like 
her,  she  struck  me  as  so  sharp  and  criticising.  We  had 
music  after  tea  ;  Lady  Emily  and  Mr.  Rivers  sang  ;  they 
were  both  passionately  fond  of  music.  I  did  not  quite 
know  before  whether  I  was  or  not,  but  I  had  no  doubt 
then.  The  two  voices,  so  perfect  in  harmony,  so  exquisitely 
true  and  simple  in  taste,  lingered  on  my  ear  with  a  remem- 
brance of  surpassing  sweetness.  I  was  asked  to  play  my- 
self, and,  of  course,  declined.  Lady  Emily  did  not  press 
me  then,  but  said  I  must  try  when  I  was  alone  with  her 
the  next  day.  I  fancied  her  manner  colder  than  before, 
and  felt  certain  she  was  disappointed  with  me.  Naturally 
she  would  be  if  she  imagined  I  could  gossip  about  her 
visitors  with  the  lady's  maid.  The  idea  distressed  me, 
not  merely  from  mortified  vanity,  but  Lady  Emily's  kind- 
ness was  fast  winning  my  affection.  I  could  not  bear  to 
think  that  I  might  have  displeased  her ;  and  my  first  pre- 
judice against  Horatia  Gray  deepened,  I  fear  most  un- 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF    LIFE.  99 

justly,  as  I  felt  she  had  been,  however  indirectly,  the  cause 
of  this  false  impression. 

My  head  had  been  aching  all  the  evening,  and  worry 
of  mind  so  increased  it,  that,  at  last,  I  must  have  shown 
by  my  countenance  that  I  was  suffering.  Miss  Warner 
remarked  I  looked  pale.  Lady  Emily  begged  me  to  go 
to  bed,  and  blamed  herself  for  having  made  me  walk  too 
far;  and  when  I  still  insisted  upon  staying  up  as  long  as 
every  one  else,  Mr.  Rivers  cut  short  the  discussion  by 
ringing  the  bell  for  prayers. 

"  Good  night,  dear  child,"  said  Lady  Emily,  as  she 
took  me  to  my  room  and  lighted  the  candles  on  the  dress- 
ing-table, and  looked  round  to  see  that  nothing  was  wanting 
for  my  comfort — "  Cookson  shall  come  to  you."  "  Oh,  no, 
thank  you,  indeed  I  never  have  any  help.  I  don't  want 
Cookson  at  all,"  I  exclaimed  with  much  more  eagerness 
than  the  occasion  justified.  "  She  is  a  good-natured,  kind- 
hearted  creature,"  said  Lady  Emily — "  a  little  forward 
and  talkative."  "  Do  you  really  think  her  forward?  I  am 
so  glad.  I  mean,"  I  said,  laughing  from  shyness,  whilst 
my  face  became  crimson ;  "  that  is,  I  did  not  want  her  to 
talk  about  Horatia  Gray."  Lady  Emily  comprehended 
in  an  instant.  "  My  poor  child  !  and  has  that  been  upon 
your  mind  all  the  evening  ?"  she  stooped  dow;a  and  kissed 
me.  I  shall  never  forget  the  kiss  ;  and  I  threw  my  arms 
round  her,  and  said,  "  I  could  love  •  you  so  much,  if  you 
would  let  me." 


CHAPTER   XII. 


I  WAS  at  East  Side  again  the  following  day,  occupied  as  if 
I  had  never  left  it.  I  will  not  say  that  I  did  not  feel  the 
contrast  with  Lowood,  but  the  feeling  did  not  make  me 
unhappy.  I  was  already  beginning  to  learn  that  all 
situations  in  life  have  their  duties  and  their  cares  ;  and 
that  the  form  in  which  these  are  sent  to  us  must  be,  com- 
paratively, a  matter  of  indifference.  Lady  Emily  worked 
in  her  sphere.  I  was  anxious  to  work  in  mine.  We  had 
therefore  mutual  interests  ;  and  the  consciousness  of  this 


<r 


100  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

made  me  look  upon  Lowood  without  repining,  whilst  the 
hope  that  I  was  acquiring  a  new  and  valuable  friend,  gave 
a  charm  to  my  daily  life. 

Great  curiosity  was  naturally  expressed  as  to  what  I 
had  done  and  said,  and  how  I  had  enjoyed  myself.  Caro- 
line's questions  were  principally  in  reference  to  the  amount 
of  attention  I  had  received ;  Joanna  was  eager  to  learn 
how  many  servants  were  kept,  and  how  Lady  Emily  was 
dressed  in  the  evening  ;  whilst  my  dear  mother,  as  she  sat 
down  by  me  on  the  sofa,  and  put  her  arm  round  my  waist, 
hoped  that  her  darling's  head  had  not  ached ;  and  was 
only  anxious  to  learn  that  I  had  not  walked  too  far,  and 
had  slept  well. 

For  myself,  all  this  questioning  rather  teased  me.  It 
did  not  touch  the  point  in  which  my  own  pleasure  had 
been  found.  No  one,  not  even  my  mother,  seemed  to 
understand  that  Lady  Emily  and  myself  could  have  any 
thing  in  common.  They  could  not,  indeed,  imagine  why 
the  invitation  had  been  given,  except  that  Lady  Emily 
was  proverbially  kindhearted,  and  might  have  pitied  me 
because  I  was  out  of  health,  and  therefore  wished  to  give 
me  a  little  change :  and  with  this  belief  I  allowed  them 
to  remain  satisfied.  It  would  have  appeared  the  utmost 
amount  of  conceit  to  suggest  that  the  society  of  a  young, 
insignificant  girl,  like  myself,  could  afi'ord  any  pleasure  to 
a  person  like  Lady  «Emily  Rivers  ;  and  yet  in  my  heart  I 
felt  that  it  must  be  so.  Mere  pity  could  never  have  induced 
her  to  express  such  pleasure  in  having  seen  me,  and  beg  that 
I  would  write  and  let  her  know  whenever  I  wanted  a  few 
days'  change  of  scene.  I  did  not  know  why  she  liked  me, 
but  I  was  quite  certain  that  she  did  ;  and  I  buried  the 
certainty  in  my  own  breast,  dreading  lest  it  might  be  des- 
troyed if  I  brought  it  forth  to  the  light ;  and  then,  in 
order  to  give  the  conversation  another  turn,  I  mentioned 
Horatia  Gray. 

My  mother,  it  seemed,  had  already  heard  of  her  arri- 
val. A  letter  from  my  aunt  had  been  received  that  morn- 
ing, saying,  that  it  was  her  intention,  very  shortly,  to  visit 
Miss  Cleveland  ;  and  that  her  niece — my  mother  uncon- 
sciously laid  an  emphasis  on  the  word,  as  she  read  the 
Bentenco  from  the  letter — was  already  there.     "  It  is  so 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  101 

absurd  in  my  aunt  calling  Horatia  her  niece,"  exclaimed 
Caroline, — a  step-niece  of  her  husband  !  "  It  is  really  too 
silly ;  and  her  own  real  nieces  are  nothing  to  her."  "  Ho- 
ratia was  left  lonely  and  unprovided  for,"  said  my  mother, 
gently,  "  and  your  aunt  is  very  benevolent."  "  And  she 
will  be  adopting  us  all  as  cousins,"  I  heard  Caroline  mut- 
ter to  herself,  as  she  walked  away ;  whilst  Joanna  grew 
rather  excited,  and  wished  Horatia  would  come,  for  we 
really  made  so  few  acquaintances,  it  would  be  a  treat  to 
look  upon  a  new  face.  "  You  saw  her  yesterday,  Sarah," 
said  my  mother,  a  little  anxiously.  "  Oh,  yes,  you  saw 
her  ;  what  was  she  like  ? — what  was  she  dressed  in  ?" 
asked  Joanna.  "  Your  aunt  thinks  her  very  handsome," 
said  my  mother.  Joanna's  face  grew  cloudy.  "  Oh  !  she 
is  handsome  !  and  conceited  too,  I  dare  say  ;  and  prides 
herself  upon  knowing  the  ways  of  the  world,  and  dressing 
well.  I  am  sure  she  will  not  be  to  my  taste."  I  could 
not  avoid  laughing.  "  Well,  Joanna,"  I  said,  "  it  is  cer- 
tainly not  worth  while  for  me  to  wast&  my  time  in  descrip- 
tion, since  you  know  so  much  about  her :  but  she  is  hand- 
some, certainly ;  and  she  does  dress  well ; — well,  that  is, 
in  a  certain  way,"  I  added,  with  some  hesitation — "  she 
dresses  remarkably,  rather."  .  "  I  was  afraid  so,"  said  my 
mother.  "  Oh !  mamma,"  exclaimed  Joanna,  "  you  know 
all  about  her,  even  to  her  dress,  and  you  have  never  talked 
about  her,  or  told  us  anything,  or  seemed  to  care  whether 
there  was  such  a  person  in  existence.  We  won't  trust  you 
any  more,  indeed  we  won't,"  and  an  arch  smile  passed  over 
her  face,  which  lit  it  up  with  an  expression  of  such  beauty, 
that  my  mother's  eyes  rested  upon  her  with  delight.  "  I 
have  not  talked  about  her,"  replied  my  mother,  "  because 
I  have  very  little  to  say.  She  was  Major  Colston's  step- 
niece, — that  you  know  ;  and  she  was  left  without  any 
money,  and  went  out  for  some  time,  as  a  companion  to 
Lady  somebody — I  forget  the  name."  "  Lady  Charlotte 
Morton,"  I  observed, — "  Lady  Emily  Rivers'  sister."  "  Oh ! 
that  is  the  reason  she  called  then,"  observed  Joanna,  in 
the  tone  of  a  stage  aside.  "  I  don't  know  exactly  why  she 
did  not  remain  with  this  lady,"  said  my  mother ;  "  but  soon 
after  she  left  her,  Major  Colston  died,  and  your  aunt  being 
alone,  Horatia  went  to  live  with  her ;  and  as  her  own  con- 


102  THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE. 

nections  are  not  good,  I  dare  say  she  was  very  glad  to  b« 
adopted,  as  it  were,  into  your  aunt's  family :  that  is  her 
history."  "  Not  all,  mamma,"  I  was  about  to  exclaim,  for 
I  was  certain  my  mother  knew  at  least  enough  to  have 
imbibed  an  unfavourable  impression  ;  but  I  hesitated,  for 
I  felt  that  it  was  not  fair  to  press  her  to  say  more.  If  I 
ought  to  know  her  opinion  of  Horatia  I  was  sure  she  would 
tell  it  me ;  if  I  ought  not,  it  was  my  duty  to  remain  sat- 
isfied with  ignorance.  Joanna,  I  think,  did  not  see  as  I 
did,  that  my  mother  was  reserved  in  expressing  her  opin 
ion.  She  looked  disappointed  for  a  moment,  and  then  rac 
away  to  try  on  a  new  bonnet. 

Several  days  passed,  and  neither  Miss  Cleveland  nor 
Horatia  Gray  called,  and  nothing  was  heard  of  my  aunt 
Colston.  My  curiosity  was  rather  dying  away,  having 
nothing  to  keep  it  up,  and  Caroline  and  Joanna  were  both 
engrossed  with  other  objects.  Caroline  had  now  assumed 
her  full  position  as  the  eldest  daughter,  entitled  to  give 
opinions  and  consult,  her  own  convenience ;  and  she  exer- 
cised her  power  without  mercy.  Society  was  her  object ; 
and  she  was  resolved  to  have  it  at  any  cost.  Every  day 
brought  discussions  about  visits  and  invitations ;  and,  not- 
withstanding my  mother's  faint  struggles  for  a  quiet,  inex- 
pensive life,  I  could  not  but  see  that  we  should  inevitably 
be  drawn  into  a  round  of  dinner  company,  not  only  near, 
but  distant,  which  must  make  a  considerable  inroad  into 
my  father's  yearly  income.  Society,  as  Caroline  continu- 
ally urged,  v»^as  the  one  thing  necessary  for  the  family 
prosperity.  It  was  essential  for  Vaughxin,  who  was  far  too 
clever  to  be  thrown  away  upon  the  people  of  Carsdale ;  it 
would  be  the  means  of  softening  Keginald ;  and  for  her- 
self and  Joanna — what  prospects  could  they  have,  if  they 
shut  themselves  up  at  home,  and  confined  themselves  to 
the  fourth-rate  acquaintance  of  a  little  country  town  ! 
Since  we  had  removed  into  the  country,  and  had,  as  it 
were,  taken  a  new  position  in  the  world,  it  would  be  the 
height  of  folly  not  to  avail  ourselves  of  our  advantages ; 
therefore, — this  was  the  conclusion  of  a  speech  a-jnopos  to 
an  invitation  to  dine  at  a  house  seven  miles  off, — there  was 
nothing  to  be  done  but  to  send  an  acceptance,  and  so  avoid 
any  further  doubt.     And  Caroline  seated  herself  at  the 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  108 

writing-table, — looked  at  my  father  and  mother,  as  if  her 
arguments  were  unanswerable, — wrote  the  acceptance,  and 
that  point  was  settled.  To  do  her  justice,  she  was  per- 
fectly sound  in  her  own  arguments,  according  to  her  own 
views.  She  had  one  object  in  life  ; — a  wealthy  marriage. 
Unquestionably  it  was  more  likely  to  be  attained  by  enter- 
ing into  society,  than  by  living  a  life  of  retirement. 

I  knew  her  object ;  she  did  not  conceal  it.  I  knew 
Joanna's  : — admiration  now ;  marriage  by-and-bye.  Some- 
times I  asked  myself,  what  was  my  own. 

East  Side  was  an  unfortunate  distance  from  Carsdale  : 
it  was  too  far  to  allow  of  my  walking  into  the  town  and 
back  again  the  same  day.  I  had  never  thought  of  this 
till  we  went  to  live  there ;  and  at  first  I  fancied  it  would 
not  signify,  because  my  father  would  drive  me  in  as  often 
as  I  wished  it.  But  the  pony-chaise  was  continually  in 
use  for  visits ;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  we  were  obliged 
to  have  recourse  to  the  carrier  to  bring  backwards  and 
forwards  the  small  things  which  were  wanted  for  house- 
keeping. My  mother  complained  of  the  weekly-carrier's 
account ;  but  the  cook  said  it  was  impossible  to  help  it, 
because  there  was  no  store-room.  My  mother  had  never 
thought  about  a  store-room ;  it  had  not  been  necessary  when 
we  lived  in  the  town.  My  father  was  certain  it  would  be 
easy  to  build  one  in  a  space  between  the  pantry  and  the 
kitchen.  My  mother  feared  it  would  be  an  expensive  bu- 
siness —  three  outer  walls  would  certainly  require  to  be 
built.  "  Not  half  as  expensive  as  the  weekly-carrier's  ac- 
count," said  my  father.  And  he  planned  his  store-room 
one  morning  after  breakfast,  because  it  was  a  rainy  day, 
and  he  could  not  go  into  the  garden  ;  and  gave  orders  for 
it  in  the  afternoon,  because  the  builder  happened  to  call, 
and  it  was  a  pity  to  lose  the  opportunity. 

But  that  is  a  digression  :  the  store-room  was  not  my 
trouble,  but  the  impossibility  of  oftener  seeing  aunt  Sa- 
rah. I  did  not  go  into  Carsdale  for  a  week  after  my  visit 
to  Lowood.  Then  I  received  a  note  in  aunt  Sarah's  up- 
right, square,  but  trembling  handwriting. 

"  Dear  Child, — I  want  to  see  you.  Ask  your  mother 
to  let  you  come  to  me  to-morrow  to  dinner,  at  two  o'clock : 
and  you  can  sleep  here. — Your  affectionate  great-aunt, 
Sarah  Mortimer." 


104  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

No  one  who  did  not  know  the  effort  it  was  for  aunt 
Sarah  to  form  a  letter  with  her  hands  crippled  by  rheu- 
inatism,  could  have  understood  why  my  heart  throbbed 
with  delight  as  I  read  the  little  note  over  and  over  again. 
It  must  have  been  a  real  wish  to  have  me  with  her, 
which  could  make  her  write  herself;  and  it  is  such  a 
great  pleasure  to  be  able  to  give  pleasure.  I  had  never 
thought  till  lately  that  I  could  do  so.  I  used  to  be 
pitied  and  fondled  as  a  child,  but  I  was  growing  too  old, 
and' my  spirit  was  too  independent,  to  wish  for  that  any 
longer.  A  new,  faint  light,  dawned  upon  me.  Perhaps 
I  was  to  live  for  others.  Perhaps  if  I  did  not  marry, — 
and  it  was  absurd  to  suppose  that  I  ever  should,  such  a 
sickly,  unattractive,  uninteresting  person  as  I  was, — I 
was  still  to  have  an  object  in  life :  to  be  the  help,  the 
comfort,  the  sympathising  friend,  the  unwearied  watcher 
in  sickness  and  suffering ;  not  first  in  affection^ — and  hu- 
man weakness,  for  the  moment,  won  the  mastery,  and  tears 
rushed  to  my  eyes  as  I  thought  that  none  would  ever  love 
me  best ; — and  then  the  longing  that  was  to  find  no  rest- 
ing-place on  earth,  ascended  upwards  to  Heaven,  and  the 
words  came  to  my  mind  :  "  As  the  Father  hath  loved  Me, 
so  have  I  loved  you." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


I  WALKED  into  Carsdale  the  following  day,  with  my  fa- 
ther, and  was  seated  at  aunt  Sarah's  dinner-table,  precise- 
ly as  the  clock  struck  two.  My  mother  and  Caroline 
were  gone  in  the  pony-chaise  to  call  at  Lowood.  I  can- 
not say  how  pleasant  it  was  to  me  to  find  myself  again  in 
the  quiet  room  with  aunt  Sarah  and  Miss  Cole,  and  old 
Betty  waiting  upon  us.  It  seemed  an  age  since  I  had 
left  it ;  and  my  aunt  appeared  to  think  it  long  too,  for 
she  smiled  at  me  several  times,  and  said  it  was  natural  to 
see  me  there  ; — she  and  Miss  Cole  were  neither  of  them 
as  gay  as  they  once  were,  and  they  wanted  something 
young  about  them.  "  But  Sarah  has  been  quite  a  grand  la- 
dy since  she  went  away,"  observed  Miss  Cole ; — "  she  won't 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  105 

want  to  come  back  to  Carsdale,  after  visiting  at  Lowood." 
"  Sarah  is  not  such  a  little  goose,"  said  my  aunt ;  "  visit- 
ing at  Lowood  will  never  put  her  out  of  conceit  with 
Carsdale.  If  it  did,  she  should  never  go  there  with  my 
consent.  Betty,  take  the  fish  away,  and  bring  the  mutton : 
the  child  has  eaten  nothing  yet."  "  Lowood  does  not 
seem  so  very  different  from  Carsdale,"  I  observed  :  "  that 
is,  aunt  Sarah,  Lady  Emily  Kivers  does  not  seem  so  very 
different  from  you."  "  When  folks  are  travelling  the 
same  road,"  said  my  aunt,  "  they  must  pass  the  same 
places.  Lady  Emily  and  I  find  the  same  things  to  think 
of  and  talk  about,  though  she  lives  in  a  large  house,  and  I 
live  in  a  small."  "  And  what  did  you  do  all  the  day  at 
Lowood  ?"  inquired  Miss  Cole  ;  wishing,  I  could  see,  in 
her  kind  way,  to  draw  me  out.  "  We  will  hear  all  about 
it  after  dinner,"  said  my  aunt ;  and  she  made  a  sign  to 
Betty  to  remove  the  cover  from  the  leg  of  mutton.  Miss 
Cole  took  the  hint ;  and  no  more  questions  about  Lowood 
were  asked  before  the  servant.  Nor,  indeed,  was  the 
subject  referred  to  again  till  I  was  left  alone  with  my 
aunt  in  the  afternoon.  Then  she  made  me  take  the 
square  green  and  black  footstool,  worked  in  the  homely 
period  between  mediaeval  tapestry  and  modern  Berlin 
patterns,  and  seating  myself  at  her  feet,  tell  her  all  I  had 
been  doing  since  I  went  away.  An  occasional  "  hem," 
from  time  to  time,  marked  her  attention,  but  not  her 
opinion.  "  Well,  child,"  she  said,  when  I  had  ended, 
'•  and  what  do  you  think  of  it  all  ?"  "  I  don't  know,"  was 
my  reply,  "  there  is  not  very  much  to  think  about,  except 
that  Lady  Emily  is  better  and  kinder  than  almost  any 
one  I  have  ever  seen."  "  And  you  are  sixteen,"  said  my 
aunt,  patting  my  shoulder.  "  Yes,  very  nearly."  "  And 
you  have  never  been  out  of  Carsdale.  Well !  keep  your 
faith ;  it  is  safer  to  think  too  well  than  too  ill  of  the 
world,  and  lady  Emily  Bivers  is  a  good  woman.  But 
how  are  you  getting  on  at  home  ?"  "  Tolerably,"  I  an- 
swered ;  "  I  never  manage  to  do  what  I  wish;  and  very 
often  I  don't  know  what  I  ought  to  do."  "  Grope  on," 
said  my  aunt,  '•  it  is  good  exercise."  "  But  I  am  not 
quite  old  enough  to  grope  by  myself,"  I  replied ;  "  I 
fihould  be  much  better,  I  am  sure,  if  I  had  my  work  regu* 


106  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

larly  ordered  for  me.  "  Then  you  would  be  much  better 
in  your  own  world,  than  you  are  in  Grod's  world,"  answer- 
ed my  aunt.  '•  Don't  you  think,  Sally,  that  if  it  would  re- 
ally be  good  for  you  to  have  your  work  ordered  for  jj^ou  a8 
you  say,  He  would  have  arranged  that  it  should  be  ?" 
"  Yes,"  I  said,  quickly ;  and  then,  after  a  little  thought,  I 
added,  "  but  the  irregularity  often  comes  from  other  peo- 
ple's faults  :  those  can't  be  Grod's  ordering."  "  But  they 
are  his  permitting,  and' He  can  bring  good  out  of  them. 
Trust  me,  Sally,  though  it  is  a  good  thing,  and  a  necessa- 
ry thing,  for  some  minds  to  haye  their  work  put  straight 
before  them,  it  is  just  as  good  and  as  necessary  for  others 
to  have  to  search  it  out."  "  If  one  could  but  succeed  in 
the  search,"  I  said.  "  Begin  in  earnest,  and  you  must 
succeed,"  replied  Sarah.  "  The  first  thing  you  need  is 
regularity.  Take  some  duty  ;  let  it  be  the  children's  les- 
sons, and  fix  its  place  in  the  day ;  never  mind  if  every 
thing  else  is  irregular,  only  do  one  thing  always  at  the 
same  hour,  and  you  will  have  taken  a  first  step  and  a 
most  important  one  in  i^e  management  of  time."  "  And 
if  I  had  not  the  children's  lessons  ?"  I  said.  "  Then  let 
it  be  some  steady  reading.  When  you  have  settled  one 
thing  it  will  be  easy  to  fix  another.  If  you  find  a  duty 
come  to  hand  at  a  certain  hour  naturally,  make  up  your 
mind  that  it  shall  be  done  at  that  hour ;  and  if  there's  a 
time  in  the  day  when  needs  must  that  you  should  follow 
other  people's  wills,  then  settle  with  yourself  that  it  shall 
be  given  up  as  a  matter  of  right,  and  so  irregularity  will 
become  regular." 

'•  But  that  will  not  help  me  to  find  out  my  duties,"  I  re- 
plied, "  which  is  what  I  want  to  do."  ''  That  is  the  speech 
of  a  silly  child,"  said  my  aunt.  "  People  are  puzzled  about 
their  duties  because  they  mix  them  up  in  a  heap,  and  can't 
see  one  from  another.  One  day  they  take  a  fancy  for 
visiting  poor  people  ;  and  the  next  day  they  think  it  would 
be  a  fine  thing  to  study ;  and  the  day  after  they  have  a 
mind  to  work  for  a  friend  ;  and  just  as  the  new  duty  comes 
in  the  old  one  goes  out.  But  if  each  as  it  came  up  had 
its  place  settled,  it  would  be  pretty  sure  to  be  done,  and 
the  mind  would  be  left  clear  to  see  if  there  was  room  for 
others."     "  I  suppose  that  may  be  so,"  I  said,  -i'  but  the 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  107 

difficulty  in  leading  this  kind  of  life  in  a  family  is,  that 
one  is  so  interrupted."  "  Of  course ;  and  there  lies  the 
very  good  of  a  large  family  and  plenty  of  wills.  A  per- 
son who  has  learnt  to  lead  a  steady,  active  life  at  home, 
with  all  the  bustle  of  home  fussing  and  disturbing  him, 
knows  a  good  deal  more  about  guiding  himself  and  guid- 
ing others  too,  than  one  who  has  had  the  clock  to  help 
him  all  his  life.  But,  Sally,  there's  a  danger  in  setting 
your  heart  upon  being  too  regular  in  your  ways ;  as  there 
is  in' most  other  things.  Regular  folks  wear  out  the  pa- 
tience of  their  best  friends,  when  they  set  up  their  stiff 
fashions  for  idols,  and  make  others  bow  down  to  them. 
And  there's  selfishness,  and  wilfulness,  and  disobedience 
too,  in  us,  when  we  will  follow  our  own  laws  because  we 
have  made  them  ourselves,  and  set  aside  those  which  God 
gives  us  by  the  orderings  of  His  Providence.  Make  your 
plans,  child,  but  make  them  of  leather,  not  of  §tone  :  and 
specially  don't  think  it's  a  sin  to  break  through  them  if 
there's  a  call  to  do  so  ;  nor  consider  it  a  cardinal  virtue 
to  keep  them  if  you  are  allowed  to  do  it.  Plans  and  rules 
are  good  things,  but  an  earnest  heart  is  better  than  all." 
"  I  am  afraid  there  will  not  be  much  opportunity  for  regu- 
larity," I  said,  "if  we  have  aunt  Colston  and  Horatia 
Gray  staying  with  us."  "  UmphJ  they  are  coming,  are 
they?"  said  aunt  Sarah,  her  countenance  becoming,  dis- 
composed. "  Yes,  we  must  ask  them,"  I  replied ;  "  and  it 
will  be  a  great  pleasure  to  mamma  ;  she  has  not  seen  aunt 
Colston  for  years."  "  And  her  step-niece-in-law  is  coming 
with  her,  is  she  ? "  said  aunt  Sarah.  I  laughed  at  the 
newly-invented  connection,  and  answered,  "  We  cannot 
help  asking  her."  •  "  More's  the  pity,"  said  aunt  Sarah ; 
"  why  doesn't  Mrs.  Colston  come  by  herself,  and  see  how 
you  are  going  on  ? "  "  Poor  Horatia  Gray  ! "  I  exclaimed, 
"  what  a  prejudice  there  is  against  her  !  I  have  not  heard 
a  single  person  speak  a  good  word  for  her  yet."  "  I  never 
saw  the  woman,"  replied  my  aunt,  "  but  I  don't  see  why 
your  mother's  sister  isn't  to  come  to  East  Side  without 
her.  However,  it  is  all  well  enough  if  your  mother  likes 
it."  "  I  don't  think  mamma  does  like  it,"  I  said,  "  I  am 
sure  she  would  rather  have  aunt  Colston  by  herself:  but 
I  believe  Horatia  Gray  is  quite  necessary  to  ray  aunt's 


108  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

comfort."  "  It's  the  fate  of  rich  folks  most  times,"  replied 
aunt  Sarah ;  "  they  lean  on  others  to  help  them  till  they 
can't  get  on  by  themselves."  "Is  aunt  Colston  rich?"  I 
exclaimed  quickly.  "  Surely,"  replied  aunt  Sarah,  "  rich 
for  a  person  who  has  no  one  to  provide  for  but  herself. 
Did  you  never  hear  your  mother  say  so  1 "  "  No,  never," 
I  answered,  "  or  at  least  never  that  I  remember."  "  She 
had  some  money  from  legacies  and  some  from  her  hus- 
band, so  I  have  heard  say,"  continued  aunt  Sarah  ;  "but 
no  matter  about  that."  Then  after  a  little  considera'tion 
she  added,  "  You'll  none  of  you  ever  be  rich,  Sally,  make 
up  your  mind  to  that."  "  I  don't  think  we  shall,"  I  re- 
plied ;  "  at  least  my  mother  is  always  telling  me  we  never 
shall."  "  She's  a  wise  woman  and  a  good  Christian,"  said 
my  aunt,  "  and  she  can't  do  better  than  bring  you  up  to 
depend  first  upon  God,  and  then  upon  yourselves.  My 
money,  you  know,  dies  with  me,  and  if  you  could  have  it, 
it  would  not  go  far  among  so  many  ;  but  trust  me,  Sally — ■ 
I  hp,ve  seen  much  of  the  ways  of  life — there's  more  honour 
and  more  profit  both  for  this  world  and  the  next  in  fifty 
pounds  gained  by  your  own  labour,  than  in  five  hundred 
doled  out  by  the  pity  of  others." 

I  did  not  understand  all  that  was  in  aunt  Sarah's 
thoughts,  and  the  motives  which  induced  her  to  make  the 
observation  ;  but  it  rested  in  my  mind,  connected  in  a 
vague  way  with  the  idea  of  Horatia,  whom  I  looked  upon 
as  destined  naturally  to  be  as  rich  as  aunt  Colston.  We 
did  not  dwell  long  however  upon  these  topics ;  they  were 
not  suited  to  aunt  Sarah's  taste.  Lowood  and  Lady 
Emily  were  much  more  interesting  to  her  and  to  me  also ; 
and  she  made  me  repeat  again  what  was  done  in  the  vil- 
lage, and  what  had  been  said  about  the  dissenters.  I  think 
she  must  have  had  some  perception  of  the  efiect  such  a 
subject  was  likely  to  have  upon  me  ;  for  she  was  very 
anxious  to  know  whether  any  one  had  conversed  with  me 
about  it ;  and  seemed  satisfied  when  she  found  that  Lady 
Emily  disliked  arguments,  and  would  not  enter  into  them 
with  Miss  Warner.  Yet  with  all  her  keenness  she  did  not 
penetrate  quite  to  the  inner  workings  of  my  mind.  The 
subject  of  dissent  had  occupied  me  and  done  me  harm,  for 
it  had  tended  to  increase  my  previous  perplexities.     Home 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   LIPE.  109 

occupations  and  cares,  pressing  though  they  were,  did  not 
unhappily  save  me  from  my  own  peculiar  trials.  They 
might  distract  my  thoughts  for  a  time,  but  an  hour's  leisure 
*or  any  attempt  at  serious  reflection  was  liable  to  bring 
back  the  rush^of  doubt  from  which  I  had  already  suffered 
so  much,  and  the  least  discussion  or  difference  of  opinion 
on  religious  topics  naturally  augmented  the  evil.  Dissent 
had  never  been  brought  before  me  strongly  till  I  went  to 
Lowood.  I  had  been  baptized  into  the  Church,  educated 
and  confirmed  as  a  Church  person.  Hitherto  it  had  been 
of  no  consequence  to  me.  But  now  it  had  assumed  a 
tangible  form.  I  saw  it  as  an  active,  progressive  power, 
working  with  some  secret  influence  which  it  seemed  that 
no  one  could  withstand.  Miss  Warner's  prophecy,  that  in 
the  course  of  the  next  fifty  years  all  the  religion  in  Eng- 
land would  be  found  amongst  dissenters,  haunted  me 
whenever  I  endeavoured  to  fix  my  mind  upon  serious  sub- 
jects, and  frequently  so  confused  my  notions  of  truth, 
as  nearly  to  bring  back  my  former  agony  of  doubt.  It 
must  have  done  so,  but  that  happily,  I  ought  to  say  Provi- 
dentially, I  was  learning  how  to  deal  with  my  own  mind. 
The  very  magnitude  of  the  danger  had  compelled  me  to 
battle  with  it.  I  had  crushed  thought  once  by  prayer,  and 
I  could  do  so  again.  I  did  do  it — how  often,  with  how 
terrible  a  struggle,  none  knew  or  suspected.  The  history 
of  such  a  conflict  is  for  the  Eye  and  the  Mercy  of  God ; 
it  would  not  even  have  been  referred  to  here,  but  that,  per- 
chance, it  may  strengthen  some  sinking  under  the  same 
trial,  to  know  that  it  may  be  met,  even  in  early  youth, 
.without  argument,  without  sympathy,  without  external 
aid,  but  simply  with  the  force  of  prayer,  and  the  strong 
will  to  crush  the  very  shadow  of  a  rising  doubt,  and  that 
the  end  is  peace,  and  the  conviction  not  only  of  faith  but 
of  reason.  And  now  farewell  to  that  great  anguish  for 
ever ! 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

A  LIST   of  commissions  came  from  East  Side  the  next 
morning,     They  took  me  out  early  into  the  town,  for  they 


110  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

were  all  to  be  executed  before  dinner.  My  father  was  to 
drive  in  for  me  in  the  pony-chaise  in  the  afternoon.  There 
was  some  meeting  to  be  held,  and  the  town  was  very  full. 
I  was  quite  giddy  with  the  number  of  vehicles  passing  up 
and  down  the  street ;  but  I  had  taken  the  precaution  to 
settle  the  order  of  my  shoppijig  beforehand.  First  to  the 
grocer's,  then  to  the  stationer's,  then  to  the  fishmonger's, 
then  to  the .  linendraper's,  where  I  was  especially  di- 
rected to  match  some  very  unmatchable  silk  ;  and  at  last, 
and  it  was  quite  a  relief,  into  a  back  street  to  inquire 
whether  Joanna's  silk  dress  would  be  ready  forme  to  take 
back  to  East  Side.  I  was  very  tired  when  I  reached  this 
last  place  ;  and  as  Miss  Green,  the  dressmaker,  went  up 
stairs  to  inquire,  as  she  said,  how  much  more  the  j^oung 
women  had  to  do  to  Miss  Joanna's  dress,  I  sat  down  in 
the  waiting-room  to  rest.  It  was  a  dull  little  room,  pain- 
fully neat ;  the  paper  was  a  light  drab  colour,  with  a  square 
pattern  of  darker  drab  lines  upon  it ;  five  or  six  prints  in 
black  frames  hung  round  the  walls ;  they  were  good  prints, 
line  engravings,  and  seemed  to  tell  of  past  days  of  pros- 
perity: a  mahogany  chifi"onaire,  rather  tarni^ed,  stood 
on  one  side  of  the  room,  with  a  row  of  books  upon  the  top, 
amongst  them  "  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  '•  Baxter's 
Saint's  Rest,"  "  Robinson  Crusoe,"  "  A  Collection  of 
Psalms  and  Hymns,"  a  large  volume  of  "  Sermons,"  "  Sand- 
ford  and  Merton,"  and  some  numbers  of  the  "  Lady's  Ma- 
gazine." A  set  of  black  horse-hair  chairs  and  a  horse-hair 
sofa  completed  the  furniture.  I  fell  into  a  reverie.  What 
would  life  be  in  such  a  spiritless  house  1  What  objects 
could  it  have  ?  How  could  any  one  bear  to  rise  morning 
after  morning  to  the  view  of  the  same  narrow  street,  the 
same  blank  wall — the  wall  of  a  great  brewery  ?  only  an 
occasional  cart,  a  chimney-sweeper,  a  dustman,  or  a  few 
ragged  children  screaming  in  their  play,  to  break  the  dull 
monotony  ? 

"  Ah  !  my  dear  Sarah,  what  a  surprise  !  "  Miss  Cleve- 
land's voice  dispersed  my  meditations  on  monotony  to  the 
winds.  A  whole  influx  of  people  entered  the  little  wait- 
ing-room—  Miss  Cleveland  foremost,  with  her  Horatia 
Gray ;  behind,  I  was  certain,  my  aunt  Colston ;  and  in 
the  background  Mrs.  Blair  and  my  sister  Caroline.  There 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  Ill 

was  a  general  burst  of  laughter  at  my  look  of  excessive  as 
tonishment.  Miss  Cleveland  protested  I  had  been  asleep, 
and  bade  me  wake  up  and  welcome  my  relations.  I  confess 
there  was  something  dreamy  in  my  sensations  as  I  ad- 
vanced, not  feeling  quite  sure  whom  I  was  to  address,  or 
what  I  was  to  say.  "  Your  niece  Sarah,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Colston,"  said  Miss  Cleveland ;  "  you  remember  what  a 
wee  baby  she  was  when  you  last  saw  her."  A  tall,  well- 
dressed,  fine-looking  woman,  having  a  strong  but  rather 
harsh  resemblance  to  my  dear  mother,  took  my  hand  kind- 
ly, kissed  me  on  the  forehead,  and  said  in  a  tone  so  like 
my  mother's,  that  I  could  have  imagined  she  herself  was 
speaking  to  me,  '•  It  is  a  satisfaction  to  see  any  one  grow 
up  after  such  a  sickly  childhood,  though  Sarah  does  not 
look  very  strong  now."  "And  your  cousin  Horatia,  Sarah," 
continued  Miss  Cleveland.  I  felt  an  inward  shrinking 
from  the  cousinship.  "  Sarah  and  I  know  each  other 
quite  well,  I  am  sure,"  said  a  deep,  determined  voice,  and 
a  hearty  shake  of  the  hand  accompanied  the  words ;  "  I 
have  heard  of  her  a  hundred  times,  and  I  dare  say  she 
knows  every  line  of  my  face."  "  I  don't  see  how  that 
should  be,"  said  Caroline,  brusquely,  "  as  she  never  saw 
you  before  in  her  life."  "  Oh,  but  there  is  a  certain  in- 
stinct in  connections  and  relations  ;  cousins  know  all  about 
each  other  at  once.  Dear  aunt  Colston  has  described  you 
all  again  and  again,  from  first  to  last."  "She  could  not 
have  described  Sarah,"  said  Caroline,  "  for  she  never  saw 
her  since  she  was  a  baby."  Horatia  laughed ;  an<l  the 
merriment  was  as  heartjf  as  the  shake  of  the  hand.  "  Well, 
we  know  each  other  now,  at  any  rate,  and  a  very  satis- 
factory knowledge  no  doubt  we  both  find  it."  "  May  I 
say  how-d'ye-do,  too."  asked  Mrs.  Blair  meekly,  as  she 
glided  her  thin  figure  between  the  wall  and  Horatia's  silk 
flounces.  "  Ah,  my  dear  Mrs.  Blair,  I  beg  ten  thousand 
pardons,"  and  Horatia,  rustling  to  the  further  end  of  the 
room,  insisted  upon  dear  aunt  Colston's  sitting  down  to 
rest  in  the  black  arm-chair.  Mrs.  Blair  having  inquired 
for  aunt  Sarah,  went  up  stairs  with  Caroline,  and  Miss 
Cleveland  then  began  to  inform  me  how  it  was  that  any 
thing  so  curious  should  have  occurred  as  a  family  meeting 
and  introduction  in  little  Miss  Green's  waiting-room.    My 


■-^ 


K^ 


112  THE    EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

aunt,  I  found,  had  arrived  only  the  evening  "before  ;  the 
jfirst  visit  naturally  was  to  East  Side,  where  they  had  spent 
more  than  an  hour,  a  delightful  hour,  according  to  Miss 
Cleveland,  looking  over  the  wonderful  improvements  in  the 
place.  Then — it  was  so  fortunate — Caroline  wished  of  all 
things  to  come  into  Carsdale ;  she  said  she  must  call  on 
Mrs.  Blair,  and  there  was  a  vacant  place  in  the  back  seat, 
for  Horatia  drove  so  beautifully,  they  did  not  want  any 
servant ;  so  they  had  a  charming  drive,  and  went  at  once  to 
Mrs.  Blair's ;  and  there — most  strangely  things  turn  out — 
they  found  that  Mrs.  Blair  had  business  at  Miss  Green's, 
and  Caroline  had  also,  so  they  all  walked  together.  "And 
a  gentleman  with  us,"  added  Miss  Cleveland ;  "  Mrs. 
Blair's  brother-in-law,  the  great  merchant,  only  he  would 
have  been  a  little  in  the  way  at  a  dressmaker's,  so  we  sent 
him  to  the  Bank,  and  said  we  would  call  for  him  on  our 
way  back."  "  Who  do  you  say  that  gentleman  is  who 
came  with  us  ?"  inquired  aunt  Colston.  "  Mr.  Blair,  the 
merchant,  I  don't  know  what  merchant  exactly.  He  has 
a  great  warehouse  somewhere  in  the  city — a  good,  worthy 
man,  wonderfully  rich."  "  His  riches  prosper  with  him,  if 
one  may  judge  from  his  size,"  said  my  aunt ;  "  I  never  saw 
such  a  giant."  Miss  Cleveland  held  up  her  finger  for 
silence,  for  Mrs.  Blair  and  Caroline  were  coming  down  the 
stairs.  A  discussion  now  went  on  as  to  what  was  next  to 
be  done  :  "  We  could  not  walk  up  and  down  the  streets  in 
a  body,"  aunt  Colston  said,  "  or  we  should  look  like  a  regi- 
ment. Could  not  I  come  with  her  and  Horatia  ?  she  had 
seen  nothing  of  me  ;  and  we  might  all  meet  at  Mrs.  Blair's 
at  two  o'clock."  Horatia  seconded  the  proposal  warmly  ; 
but  I  excused  myself  on  the  plea  of  being  obliged  to  dine 
with  aunt  Sarah ;  and  after  a  little  more  conversation, 
from  which  I  understood  that  aunt  Colston  and  Horatia 
were  invited  to  stay  at  East  Side  at  the  end  of  the  follow- 
ing week,  the  party  broke  up. 

Mrs.  Blair  and  Caroline  offered  to  accompany  me  to 
aunt  Sarah's  door.  They  would  pass  the  Bank  on  their 
way,  and  might,  as  Mrs.  Blair  expressed  it,  pick  up  her 
brother-in-law.  "  Rather  a  large  atom  to  pick  up,"  I 
sould  not  help  whispering  to  Caroline,  as  Mr.  Blair  came 
out  from  the  Bank.     He  was  really  a  portentous  man ; 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  113 

not  in  one  way,  but  in  all  ways — height,  size,  whiskers, 
manner,  voice ;  a  giant  in  every  thing  but  intellect,  and 
not  deficient  in  that  as  regarded  the  cleverness  of  making 
money.  One  could  read  at  once  in  his  sharp  eye  and 
square  forehead  the  energetic  yet  cautious  character 
which  would  have  many  aims  and  enter  into  many  specu- 
lations, but  which  would  so  well  calculate  the  chances  of 
profit  and  loss,  as  scarcely  ever  by  any  error  of  judgment 
to  fail  of  success.  He  came  out  of  the  Bank  with  my 
uncle  Ralph,  The  contrast  between  the  two  was  very 
amusing — my  uncle,  so  softly  gracious  and  bland,  so  very 
much,  both  in  manner  and  dress,  the  staid,  precise  gen- 
tleman, older  than  his  age,  standing  firmly  upon  the  rock 
of  a  century  of  respectability ;  and  Mr.  Blair,  the  repre- 
sentative of  a  younger  generation,  pompous  and  noisy, 
requiring  nothing  for  support  but  the  knowledge  of  his 
own  success,  and  the  possession  of  a  hundred  thousand 
pounds.  "  Good-bye,  my  dear  sir,"  said  my  uncle,  grasping 
Mr.  Blair's  hand,  as  he  was  in  the  habit  of  grasping  the 
hands  of  all  for  whom  he  had  to  transact  business.  "  You 
may  quite  depend  upon  me,  I  will  write  by  to-day's  post." 
"  Thank  you,  sir,  much  obliged ;  I  shall  be  back  in  Lon- 
don myself  soon,  then  you  shall  hear  from  me.  Now, 
Mrs.  Blair ;"  and  he  stared  at  me,  and  offered  his  arm  to 
his  meek  little  sister-in-law,  who  drew  back,  and  Caroline 
and  Mr.  Blair  walked  up  the  street  together.  I  pitied 
Caroline,  but  my  pity  was  thrown  away.  She  was  fitted 
for  any  position  in  life  ;  for  she  had  but  little  timidity, 
and  very  few  real  dislikes.  Mr.  Blair's  jokes  were  en- 
dured heroically,  and  even  kept  up  by  a  little  quiet  ban- 
tering in  return ;  and  as  we  parted  company  at  aunt 
Sarah's  door,  Mrs.  Blair  could  not  refrain  from  saying  to 
me  in  a  low  voice,  "  Well,  I  must  own  your  sister  Caroline 
does  manage  to  make  herself  agreeable  to  every  one."  I 
thought  for  an  instant  that  she  meant  to  imply  that  I  had 
done  the  contrary,  but  Mrs.  Blair  was  a  great  deal  too 
good-natured  for  sarcasm. 

Oh,  the  repose  of  aunt  Sarah's  parlour  after  that 
bustling  morning !  how  very  pleasant  it  was  !  refreshing 
to  mind  and  body.  I  liked  to  tell  her  all  I  had  been 
doing,  for  she  was  not  at  all  insensible  to  the  concerns  tf 


114  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

her  neighbours ;  and  I  made  both  her  and  Miss  Cole  laugh 
by  describing  my  bewildering  introduction  to  aunt  Colston 
But  that  half  hour's  rest  was  soon  over,  and  dinner  fol- 
lowed, and  the  packing  of  my  little  carpet-bag ;  and  the 
pony-chaise  came  to  the  door,  and  my  father  staid  for 
about  ten  minutes  out  of  respect  to  aunt  Sarah ;  and  in 
another  half  hour  I  was  at  East  Side  again,  and  my 
short-lived  visit  was  amongst  the  things  that  have  been  ; 
so  at  least  I  thought  then  ;  but  I  have  since  asked  myself 
whether  there  is  really  any  has  been  ;  whether  all  thoughts, 
and  words,  and  deeds,  however  simple,  do  not  live  in  their 
effects  so  as  never  to  cease  to  be ;  even  as  the  stroke  of 
the  artist's  pencil  is  past  in  a  moment,  yet  endures  for 
ages.  One  thing  is 'certain,  that  we  arc  what  we  have 
done^  and  that  there  is  no  action  in  life  which  has  not 
tended  to  make  us  what  we  are.  It  is  the  thought  of  age. 
The  young  do,  but  they  seldom  pause  to  think  what  they 
are  doing ;  they  work  continuously,  but  they  seldom  in- 
quire what  it  is  their  work  is  creating. 

"  So,  Fanny,"  said  my  father,  addressing  my  mother 
on  the  Friday  evening  which  followed  my  visit  to  aunt 
Sarah,  "  so  your  sister  and  Miss  Gray  will  be  here  to- 
morrow. What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  them  ?  "  "  Make 
them  at  home  and  comfortable,  I  hope,"  said  my  mother 
smiling.  My  father  threw  down  his  book  and  yawned. 
"  They  will  find  it  rather  dull,  I  am  afraid.  Vaughan. 
my  good  fellow,  what  are  you  reading  ?  "  '-A  novel,  sir," 
replied  Yaughan.  "  Foolish  reading  for  a  young  man 
who  talks  of  going  to  college.  Let  me  see,  you  go  up  for 
matriculation  in  two  months'  time  ?  "  "I  believe  so,  sir.'* 
"  You  ought  to  have  gone  up  a  year  ago.  I  am  afraid  it 
will  tell  against  you,  this  being  so  late."  My  father 
spoke  rather  testily.  My  mother  looked  up  with  a  con- 
sciousness of  something  not  quite  comfortable.  "  Will  it 
really  be  so  soon  ? "  she  said  gravely.  '•  I  don't  know 
how  it  is  I  have  miscalculated  so  much.  I  fancied  we 
were  to  have  him  at  home  at  least  three  months  longer." 
Hester,  who  was  sitting  upon  Yaughan's  knee,  with  a 
pencil  and  a  pie^e  of  paper  before  her,  gave  him  a  kisa, 
and  asked  him  to  take  her  with  him.  He  patted  her 
hwd  and  went  on  reading ;  the  novel  was  very  engross- 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  115 

ing.  "  It  is  a  terrible  expense,"  said  my  father,  "  I  can't 
see  how  we  are  to  manage  it."  "  And  there  is  so  little 
to  be  gained  by  it,"  observed  Reginald.  "Except  being 
like  other  gentlemen,"  said  Vaughan,  without  raising  hig 
head.  "  You  may  be  that  if  you  choose  it,  without  going 
to  college,  my  dear  boy,"  remarked  my  mother.  "  I  don't 
mean  that  I  should  not  be  very  sorry  for  you  not  to  go ; 
but  if  your  father  could  not  afford  it,  I  see  no  reason 
why  you  are  to  be  the  less  a  gentleman ;  supposing,  of 
course,  that  your  conduct  and  manners  give  you  a  right 
to  the  name."  "  Many  persons  are  gentlemen  who  have 
never  been  at  college,"  observed  Caroline.  "  Mr.  Blair, 
for  instance,"  said  Joanna,  laughing.  "  I  heard  him  say 
to-day  that  he  was  thankful  he  was  not  indebted  to  any 
dons  or  professors  for  the  success  he  had  had  in  life.  It 
was  all  his  own  doing  from  beginning  to  end."  "  And 
very  much  to  his  credit,"  replied  Caroline.  I  could  not 
help  saying  that  I  thought  it  depended  upon  the  kind  of 
success.  I  did  not  see  that  merely  making  money  was 
much  to  any  person's  credit.  Caroline  turned  round  upon 
me  hastily,  "  If  you  mean  to  be  a  philosopher,  Sarah,  you 
must  recollect  that  making  a  fortune  requires  energy,  and 
perseverance,  and  prudence,  and  judgment,  and  some  of 
the  most  valuable  qualities  in  human  nature ;  and  these 
do  deserve  credit."  "  Yes,"  I  said,  "  if  they  are  not  mar- 
red by  selfishness."  "  I  can't  see  why  all  persons  who 
make  money  are  to  be  called  selfish,  directly,"  continued 
Caroline  ;  "  to  me  there  is  jiist  as  much  selfishness  in  ex- 
travagance." "  Mr.  Blair  is  extravagant  in  some  things," 
said  Reginald ;  '-I  heard  him  boasting  to-day  of  the 
sums  he  gave  for  the  best  champagne.''  "  If  people  can 
afford  to  pay  for  the  best  champagne  they  have  a  right  to 
drink  it,  in  my  opinion,"  said  Caroline  ;  "  how  is  trade  to 
be  supported  if  no  one  spends  any  money  ? "  "  Hurrah 
for  Mr.  Blair's  champion,"  exclaimed  Reginald,  "  through 
thick  and  thin  !  a  regular  electioneering  supporter ! " 
Caroline  coloured.  "  You  are  talking  about  what  you 
don't  understand,  Reginald,"  interrupted  my  father. 
'•  There  is  nothing  to  laugh  at  in  Mr.  Blair,  he  is  a  hard- 
working, honourable  man.  I  only  wish  any  one  of  my 
gons  had  the  prospect  of  doing  as  well  in  life  as  he  has 


116  THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE. 

done ;  Vaughaii,  for  instance.  Better  be  in  a  merchant's 
office  gaining  an  honest  livelihood,  than  pretending  to 
pore  over  books  and  starving."  ''  Certainly,  if  there  is 
any  pretence  in  the  matter  or  any  starving,"  interrupted 
my  mother  mildly,  yet  in  a  tone  of  some  annoyance  ; 
"  but  we  hope  better  things  from  Yaughan  ;  and  besides, 
my  dear  Herbert,  you  are  the  last  person,  who  would 
endure  to  see  one  of  your  sons  a  pompous,  money-making 
man  like  Mr.  Blair."  My  father's  reply  was  stopped  by 
the  ringing  of  the  house-bell.  My  uncle  Ralph  was  an- 
nounced. My  father's  countenance  fell.  "  Candles  in 
my  study,  William," — we  had  a  man-servant  now  that  we 
were  at  East  Side  ; — "  why  should  he  come  at  night? "  I 
heard  him  mutter  to  himself 

My  uncle  entered  the  room — so  blandly,  so  kindly,  it 
was  really  touching.  "  Ah  !  such  a  pleasant  young  party 
it  was  delightful  to  see  them,  and  all  occupied.  There 
was  nothing  like  occupation ;  he  was  quite  sorry  to  dis- 
turb us  all ;  he  was  only  come  for  a  few  minutes ;  just 
half  a  dozen  words  with  my  father."  He  declined  sitting 
down,  and  my  father  led  the  way  to  the  study. 

The  interview  lasted  for  at  least  an  hour.  Hester 
went  to  bed  ;  Vaughan  fell  asleep  over  his  novel ;  I 
played  a  game  of  chess  with  Reginald,  and  was  beaten. 
At  the  expiration  of  the  hour  my  father  returned  alone. 
My  mother  scrutinised  his  face,  and  so  did  I,  but  we  were 
both  of  us  puzzled.  One  thing,  however,  was  a  great  re- 
lief,— ^we  saw  no  signs  of  a  family  calamity. 


CHAPTER  XT. 

I  THOUGHT  my  father  was  particularly  cheerful  when 
we  met  the  next  morning  at  breakfast,  and  my  mother 
very  much  the  reverse.  She  exerted  herself  to  conceal 
that  she  was  uncomfortable,  but  she  could  not  hide  her 
feelings  from  me.  Happily,  there  was  generally  enough 
going  on  to  distract  our  thoughts,  and  the  expectation  of 
receiving  my  aunt  and  Horatia  gave  conversation  and 
interest  to  us  all.     My  own  occupations  were,  besides,  a 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  Ill 

great  assistance  to  me.  I  had  settled  myself  decidedly  in 
the  school-room  with  Hester  and  Herbert,  *and  worked 
with  them  regularly  as  their  governess.  The  office  was  in 
some  degree  self-appointed,  but  every  one  was  willing  to 
yield  it  to  me,  and  though  I  felt  myself  sadly  unfitted  for 
it,  yet  I  was  sure  that  any  regular  employment  was  bet- 
ter for  the  children  than  the  desultory  life  they  had  been 
leading  ever  since  we  removed  from  Castle  House.  Be- 
sides giving  them  regular  hours  for  lessons  and  for  play, 
I  also  took  them  out  for  a  walk  every  afternoon  ;  a^id 
though  all  this  made  me  often  feel  over-worked,  and  left 
me  little  leisure  for  my  own  studies,  I  could  not  think 
that  it  was  labour  thrown  away.  Setting  aside  the  chil- 
dren's improvement, — and  they  certainly  did  improve, — I 
could  not  but  see  that  I  was  easing  my  mother's  mind,  and 
introducing  order  into  the  household.  The  children  being 
no  longer  dependent  upon  the  servants  either  for  dressing 
or  walking,  the  domestic  arrangements  went  on  more 
smoothly,  and,  I  hoped,  also  more  economically,  since  ex- 
tra help  could  not  now  be  as  constantly  required. 

Mrs.  Blair  and  her  brother-in-law  called  in  the  course 
of  the  day.  Mr.  Blair  being  an  idle  man  for  the  week, 
did  not,  I  suspect,  quite  know  what  to  do  with  himself 
To  busy  people  a  holiday  is  often  a  considerable  perplexity. 
It  is  a  reason,  I  think,  for  making  it  a  part  of  education  to 
give  children  holidays,  and  leave  it  to  themselves  to  find 
employment.  Mr.  Blair  had  clearly  never  been  taught 
what  to  do  with  himself  on  a  holiday ;  so  he  drove  over  to 
East  Side  every  other  afternoon,  and  lounged  about  the 
garden  and  the  two  fields,  and  gave  my  father  his  notions 
of  farming.  What  he  knew  of  farming  I  will  tiot  pretend 
to  say,  but  there  was  something  in  his  dogmatical  manner 
which  commanded  attention,  and  my  father  listened  pa- 
tiently whilst  Mr.  Blair  harangued  as  he  paced  round  and 
round  the  garden,  and  Caroline  and  Mrs.  Blair  followed 
and  asked  d  fropos  questions. 

That  day,  however,  my  father  and  Mr.  Blair  walked 
alone,  earnest  in  conversation,  and  Mrs.  Blair  lingered  in 
the  'drawing-room,  and  begged  she  might  not  disturb  any 
one ;  my  mother,  looking  careworn  and  fagged,  sitting  with 
her  and  discoursing  upon  the  little  nothings  which  formed 


118  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.. 

the  staple  commodity  of  Mrs.  Blair's  mind ;  and  in  the 
midst  of  it  all  arrived  my  aunt  Colston  and  Horatia,  just 
at  the  moment  to  prevent  my  escaping  for  a  walk  with  the 
children. 

Sensible  people  must  be  agreeable ;  that  is  the  theory 
of  human  nature.  Practically,  sensible  people,  so  called, 
are  very  often  not  agreeable.  Why,  is  a  problem  to  be 
solved  for  each  individually.  I  am  inclined  to  think,  my- 
self, that  it  is  because  very  often  they  are  not  humble, 
therefore  not  sensible. 

Aunt  Colston's  sense  was  proverbial.  The  tone  in 
which,  after  giving  my  mother  a  kiss,  and  spending  about 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  preliminary  conversation,  she  said, 
"  and  now,  my  dear,  if  you  please,  Horatia  and  I  will  go  to 
our  rooms,  and  not  interfere  with  the  order  of  your  ar- 
rangements," was  decisive  as  to  her  own  opinion  upon  the 
point.  There  was  to  be  no  lingering  about  and  wasting 
of  time  ;  every  one  was  to  do  what  every  one  had  to  do  : 
and  aunt  Colston  walked  up  stairs,  and -Horatia  followed, 
half  apologising  to  my  mother  for  my  aunt's  not  having 
brought  a  maid,  by  saying  that  she  liked  to  do  every  thing 
for  her  herself.  Meek  little  Mrs.  Blair  was  quite  crushed 
by  this  display  of  order  and  energy.  I  am  sure  she  felt  it 
must  be  an  offence  to  wander  any  longer  in  that  leisurely 
way  up  and  down  the  verandah,  gathering  verbena  leaves 
and  balm  of  Gilead  ;  and  no  doubt  it  was  a  vision  of  aunt 
Colston's  eye,  gazing  at  her  from  the  bed-room  window, 
which  made  her  so  suddenly  insist  that  it  was  growing  very 
late,  and  her  brother  must  really  drive  her  home  directly. 
I  happened  to  be  in  the  drawing-room  as  Mr.  Blair  and  my 
father  came  in  from  their  walk.  My  father  had  a  restless 
impatience  of  manner  which  he  could  scarcely  control. 
He  was  particularly  cordial  to  Mr.  Blair,  and  yet  really 
hurried  him  away ;  and  when  he  was  gone  he  hastened  back 
to  the  drawing-room,  and  seeing  only  my  mother  and  my- 
self there,  exclaimed, — "Well !  Fanny ;  it  is  quite  settled." 
My  mother  looked  very  vexed,  and  pointed  to  me  as  a  cau- 
tion, but  he  was  too  excited  to  care  for  my  presence. 
"  Never  mind,  never  mind,"  he  said,  quickly  ;  ''what  sig- 
nifies the  child's  knowing  what  every  one  must  know  soon  ?" 
A  sudden  thought  flashed  across  my  mind.     Mr.  Blair  had 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  119 

proposed  for  Caroline.  "I  would  as  soon  take  Sarah's 
judgment  as  that  of  any  person  I  know,"  said  my  mother, 
gently.  "  Well,  then,  let  her  give  her  judgment,"  con- 
tinued my  father.  "  Tell  me,  Sarah,  which  will  be  best, — 
for  Vaughan  to  go  to  college,  spend  my  money  and  his 
own  time,  and  do  nothing  ;  or  be  placed  in  a  position  where 
he  may  make  a  fortune,  and  become,  if  he  chooses,  a  wealthy 
land-owner,  and,  it  may  be,  a  Member  of  Parliament ;  who 
knows  ?  " 

I  was  silent ;  —  a  little  disappointed  that  I  had  made 
a  wrong  guess,  and  very  much  puzzled  to  answer  a  question 
which  I  felt  certain  was  not  fairly  put. 

"  There  can  be  no  question,"  continued  my  father,  with 
some  irritation  of  tone ;  "  and,  in  fact,  there  must  be  no 
question,  if  what  Ralph  says  is  true,  and  we  are  living 
beyond  our  means."  "  I  have  never  yet  been  told  what  our 
means  are,"  said  my  mother.  "  It  is  the  point  I  am  always 
urging  Ralph  to  come  to."  "  Leave  that  to  me,  my  dear," 
replied  my  father.  "  As  Ralph  says, — ladies  always  fancy 
that  accounts  can  be  made  up  in  a^ay.  But  you  need  not 
disturb  yourself  The  investment  he  proposed  to  me  last 
night  will  bring  in  five-and-twenty  per  cent  in  another  year, 
though  it  may  cripple  us  a  little  now."  "  I  dread  mining 
investments,"  said  my  mother.  My  father  grew  sud- 
denly prudent  before  me,  and  turned  the  conversation  into 
its  former  channel.  "Well,  Sarah,  what  do  you  say? 
Should  you  like  to  see  Vaughan  a  rich  man,  and  a  mem- 
ber of  Parliament  ?"  "  Not  if  he  is  to  be  like  Mr.  Blair," 
I  replied  ; — whilst  my  mother  added,  eagerly :  "And  you 
must  remember,  Herbert,  that  if  you  force  upon  him  what 
he  hates,  he  will  do  nothing."  "  He  will  do  nothing  any 
where,  it  is  my  belief,"  exclaimed  my  father ;  and  he 
walked  out  of  the  room.  I  had  only  time  for  a  few  words 
with  my  mother,  before  the  dressing-bell  rang,  and  we 
were  obliged  to  get  ready  for  dinner.  I  learnt,  however, 
that  this  scheme  of  placing  Vaughan  in  Mr.  Blair's  ofl&ce, 
had  originated  with  my  uncle  —  that  he  was  exceedingly 
urgent  for  it ;  in  fact,  almost  insisted  upon  it.  His  prin- 
cipal argument  was,  that  college  expenses  were  very  high, 
and  the  profession  of  a  barrister,  for  which  Vaughan  was 
originally  intended,  very  unpromising ;  whilst,  in  an  em- 


120  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

ployment  like  Mr.  Power's,  there  was  an  opening  for  un 
bounded  wealth,  "  Your  uncle  talks  a  great  deal  also  of 
economy,"  said  my  mother.  "  I  wish  he  would  let  us  have 
our  money  to  ourselves,  and  not  persuade  your  father  to 
enter  into  mining  speculations."  I  wished  so  too,  most 
heartily. 

There  was  a  lull  in  our  domestic  anxieties  for  the  first 
fortnight  of  aunt  Colston's  visit.  I  heard  nothing  more 
of  uncle  Ralph's  schemes,  or  Mr.  Blair's  money.  Mr. 
Blair  himself  returned  to  London,  and  the  absence  of  his 
visits  no  one  regretted.  Aunt  Colston  pronounced  him  a 
shrewd,  but  common-place  man ;  Horatia  mimicked  his 
pompoys  voice ;  Caroline  said  nothing,  but  went  into 
Carsdale  as  often  as  she  could,  to  manage  any  shopping 
that  was  wanted,  and  have  luncheon  at  Mrs.  Blair's.  It 
is  curious  to  watch  in  a  family,  and  even  in  one's  own 
mind,  how  quickly  one  set  of  interests  can  supersede 
another.  A  month  before,  Lady  Emily  Rivers,  and  our 
country  society,  were  all-engrossing ;  then  came  the  farm- 
ing plans,  and  Mr.  Blak ;  and  now,  every  one  in  the  house 
was,  more  or  less,  occupied  with  Mrs.  Colston  and  Horatia. 
It  would  have  been  difficult,  indeed,  for  it  to  be  otherwise. 
Who  could  forget,  or  be  insensible  to  the  presence  of  aunt 
Colston's  vigilant,  piercing,  ubiquitous  eye,  or  Horatia's 
cheerful,  hearty,  decided,  managing  spirit  1  By  the  end 
of  the  first  week  of  their  visit,  I  began  to  have  serious 
doubts  whether  any  person  in  the  house  but  themselves 
had  a  right  to  offer  an  opinion  or  express  a  will.  Cer- 
tainly, I  could  not  but  feel  that  we  had  been  all  our  lives 
doing  every  thing  in  the  wrong  way. 

"  Here  !  my  dear  Sarah,"  said  my  aunt,  coming  into 
the  school-room,  after  returning  from  a  drive  into  Cars- 
dale  with  Caroline,  "  I  have  brought  you  a  little  book  —  a 
French  grammar  ;  you  use  a  very  bad  one."  I  had  not 
the  most  remote  idea  that  she  had  ever  seen  the  book  I 
used.  "  Always  teach  from  the  best  books,  my  love,  and 
be  methodical  both  in  the  manner  and  the  time  of  teaching, 
and  you  will  teach  well."  "  It  does  not  do  for  gover- 
nesses to  sit  up  late  at  night,  reading  ;  does  it  aunt?"  said 
Horatia,  with  a  merry  laugh,  as  she  looked  up  from  cor- 
recting a  sum  of  Herbert's,  which  I  had  never  asked  her 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  1^1 

to  trouble  herself  with.  "  That  is  indeed  a  very  bad  habit," 
said  my  aunt,  gravely.  "  I  trust,  my  dear  Sarah,  you 
never  indulge  in  it."  "It  makes  people  get  up  late  in  the 
morning ;  doesn't  it,  Sarah  ?"  said  Horatia,  in  the  same 
tone  of  good-natured  raillery.  "  Sarah  gets  up  earlier 
than  any  one,"  exclaimed  Herbert,  bluntly.  "  Hush  !  my 
dear  little  Herbert ;  good  boys  never  interrupt," — and 
aunt  Colston  put  her  hand  upon  Herbert's  shoulder  re- 
provingly, and  held  it  there  till  the  boy's  face  became 
crimson  with  anger.  "  Sarah  !  my  love,  you  ought  always 
to  be  in  bed  by  half-past  ten,  and  up  at  six.  If  you  are 
feeling  ill,  perhaps  half  an  hour  longer  may  be  allowed. 
Take  example  from  your  cousin  Horatia.  I  hope,  Hb- 
ratia,  you  will  be  able  to  persuade  Sarah  to  walk  with  you 
every  morning  before  breakfast."  I  was  afraid,  I  said, 
that  would  be  impossible.  I  was  always  engaged  with  the 
children  before  breakfast.  "  Oh !  very  good  ;  you  read  the 
Bible  with  them,  I  suppose  ? "  "  It  is  a  pity  you  allow 
them  to  gabble  over  the  words  as  fast  as  I  heard  them 
doing  this  morning,"  said  Horatia,  carelessely.  "  You 
know,  aunt,  what  a  habit  of  reading  fast  I  had  acquired, 
till  I  came  to  live  with  you,  merely  from  never  having 
been  corrected  as  a  child."  "  Yes,  I  remember  quite  well ; 
no  habit  can  be  more  distressing  or  irreverent,  whether 
in  old  or  young  people.  Sarah,  no  doubt,  will  take  your 
remark  as  kindly  as  it  is  meant,  and  profit  by  it." 

Was  I  very  mean-spirited  not  to  defend  myself?  But 
really  I  did  not  know  what  to  say,  for  I  had  the  greatest  pos- 
sible dislike  to  making  excuses  and  apologies.  I  had*  al- 
ways fancied  before  that  I  was  very  particular  about  the 
children's  reading,  and  it  was  only  that  very  morning  I  had 
found  fault  with  them  for  hurrying  over  the  last  verses  of 
the  chapter,  when  Horatia  came  into  the  room  and  inter- 
rupted us.  "  What  system  are  you  following  in  your 
reading  ?  "  continued  my  aunt.  "  The  children  have  lately 
been  in  the  habit  of  reading  the  second  lesson  for  the 
morning  service,"  I  said.  "  Very  well,  a  very  good  idea 
for  a  beginning."  "  Very  good,"  repeated  Horatia ;  "  only 
children  require  a  little  questioning  and  explanation." 
''Certainly,  certainly,"  continued  my  aunt ;  not  giving  mo 
time  to  say  that  I  endeavoured  to  do  both.  "  I  know  a 
6 


122  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

very  good  little  book  of  questions  on  the  New  Testament, 
which  I  will  give  you,  my  love.  Horatia,  remember  that 
I  purchase  it  the  next  time  we  go  into  the  town.  I  take 
much  interest  in  your  efforts,  my  dear  Sarah ;  and  I  have 
no  doubt  they  will  be  profitable,  both  for  yourself  and 
your  young  pupils." 

Aunt  Colston  departed,  and  Horatia  and  I  were  left 
alone  with  the  children.  I  am  ashamed  to  remember  how 
proud  and  angry  I  felt.  Horatia  glanced  at  me  several 
times,  and  at  last,  seeing  that  I  walked  away  to  the  win- 
dow to  recover  my  good-humour,  she  followed  me.  "  What, 
moody,  Sarah  !  I  am  afraid  it  was  my  fault.  I  ought  to 
have  remembered  that  young  governesses  don't  like  to  be 
interfered  with  ;  but  come,  we  will  kiss,  and  be  friends." 
She  gave  me  a  kiss.  I  really  could  not  return  it,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  I  showed  great  annoyance,  when  I  said, — 
"  It  is  not  interference  I  dislike,  Horatia  ;  but  sugges- 
tions which  are    not " I    paused.      "  True,"    added 

Horatia,  perfectly  untouched  by  the  accusation.  "  My 
good  cousin,  you  must  let  other  people  be  a  judge  of  their 
own  impressions.  I  spoke  very  innocently ;  I  only  spoke 
as  I  thought.  Aunt  Colston  knows  me  quite  well — she 
never  dwells  upon  anything  I  say  in  my  off-hand  way,  and 
I  can  see  she  is  wonderfully  taken  with  you.  You  will  be 
a  decided  rival  before  long,  if  you  go  on  as  you  have  be- 
gun." The  school-room  door  opened;  —  aunt  Colston 
looked  in  once  more.  She  wanted  Horatia  directly. 
"  Coming  instantly,"  was  the  reply — "  only,  aunt,  just  stay 
for  one  minute,  and  put  this  poor  child  into  good  humour 
with  me."  "I  trust  that  is  not  required," — and  with  a 
stately  step  my  aunt  moved  across  the  room.  •'  You  must 
remember,  my  dear  Sarah,  that  whatever  I  or  Horatia 
may  say  is  solely  with  a  view  to  your  improvement.  We 
wish  to  make  our  visit  an  advantage  to  you  ;  but  it  will  be 
far  otherwise  if  you  allow  temper  to  interfere  with  the 
good  you  might  otherwise  derive  from  the  advice  of  per- 
sons older  and  more  experienced  than  yourself.  Believe 
me,  my  love,  there  is  nothing  so  needful  as  humility  for  a 
young  person  aiming  at  proficiency  as  an  instructress  of 
childhood." 

Oh  dear !  how  much  rather  I  would  have  heard  aunt 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE.  12S 

Sarah  say,  "  Sally  don't  be  a  goose  !  "  And  how  I  shrank 
involuntarily  from  a  sentence  beginning  with  "  Believe  me. 
my  love  !"  The  conversation  I  have  just  narrated,  is  but 
a  specimen  of  the  kind  of  annoyance  to  which  I  was  con- 
tinually subject.  Of  course  I  did  not  like  aunt  Colston, 
yet  I  could  not  help  feeling  respect  for  her.  If  she  had 
not  been  so  bent  upon  doing  every  one  good|  I  might 
really  have  admired  her ;  for  she  was  exceedingly  well  in- 
formed, and  her  remark^  were  often  valuable,  though, 
unfortunately,  so  well  rounded,  that  they  slid  down  the 
palate  of  one's  mind  without  leaving  much  flavour  behind. 
If  we  had  been  left  alone,  too,  I  think  we  might,  as  the  say- 
ing is,  have  "  goj;  on."  She  yas  a  true-minded  woman.  I 
do  not  use  the  word  with  the  cant  meaning  of  the  present 
day — which  is  generally,  to  my  notion,  no  meaning  at  all ; 
but  I  intend  to  express  that  she  said  what  she  meant  and 
meant  what  she  said.  Though,  at  times,  I  felt  she  was  pre- 
judiced, self-opinionated,  and  narrow-minded,  still  there  was 
nothing  mean  in  her  character  ;  nothing  to  despise.  There 
were  many  points  upon  which,  I  am  convinced,  we  could 
have  met  and  sympathised,  if — it  is  a  very  large  "  if," — it 
proved  to  be  the  "if"  of  my  life — if  it  had  not  been  foi 
Horatia  Gray.  How,  or  why,  or  when,  she  managed  it 
I  could  not  tell ;  but,  in  some  way  or  other,  Horatia  Gray 
was  always  interposing  between  myself  and  aunt  Colston's 
good  opinion.  I  am  sure  she  did  not  bring  any  open  ac- 
cusations against  me.  I  should  have  heard  of  them  di- 
rectly, if  she  had  ;  for  aunt  Colston  again  and  again 
repeated  the  observations  which  were  made  about  me  ; 
and  there  was  not  anything  tangible  to  say.  But  they 
were  a  singular  mixture  of  that  "  faint  praise,"  which,  as 
the  strong,  well-known  proverb  implies,  is  more  injurious 
than  censure,  and  hints  of  decided,  serious,  and  indulged 
faults./  To  have  said  anything  in  self-defence  would  have 
been  useless  ;  in  fact,  I  should  only  have  done  myself  harm 
by  it ;  for  after  what  my  aunt  called  my  exhibition  of  tern 
per,  on  the  occasion  to  which  I  have  referred,  I"  was  al 
ways  stopped  when  I  attempted  to  explain  any  mistake,  by 
a  warning  that  my  besetting  sin  was  pride,  and  that  I  was 
bound  to  listen  without  reply,  as  an  act  of  self-discipline^ 
But  the  visit,  it  may  be  said,  was  to  be  short ;  my  aunt 


124  THE   EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE. 

and  Horatia  were  not  living  with  us  ;  liow  could  it  be  of 
much  consequence  to  me  whether  I  was  judged  justly  or 
unjustly  1 

I  do  not  think  it  would  have  been  very  important  to 
me  individually.  I  liked  praise  and  approbation  at  the 
moment,  but  I  was  far  too  busily  engaged  in  controlling 
and  conqi3|giring  the  faults  which  daily  humbled  me  in  the 
sight  of  God,  to  allow  any  human  opinion  to  have  a 
lasting  influence  upon  my  happhiess.  I  was  what  I  was 
before  God  ;  all  else  was  a  delusion,  which  must,  sooner  or 
later,  pass  away.  But  I  was  the  favoured  one  of  the 
family,  the  peculiar  exception,  the  one  bright  spot  in  my 
aunt  Colston's  estimation.  She  had  not  been  with  us  ten 
days,  before  I  perceived  that  her  vigilant  eye  had  scanned 
every  weakness  and  infirmity,  registered  every  hasty  word, 
noted  every  omission,  seen  fully  and  clearly  what,  as  a 
family,  we  were,  and  what  we  ought  to  be. 

Alas !  there  was  but  too  much  truth  in  the  remarks 
which  she  sometimes  vented  upon  me  ;  but  they  were  very 
bitter  to  hear.  Indolence,  extravagance,  want  of  order, 
love  of  ease,  a  desire  of  mixing  in  society  above  our  po- 
sition, a  weak  vanity,  a  taste  for  sarcasm  ; — it  was  all  true. 
We  were  many  in  number, — we  each  had  our  peculiar  fail- 
ings ;  when  brought  together  they  made  a  startling  appear- 
ance ;  but  it  was  hard,  very  hard,  to  lay  them  before  oae. 
individual,  and  that  one  nearly  the  youngest  of  all. 'it) 
was  cruel  to  direct  a  child's  attention,  even  by  a  hint,  to 
the  faults  of  a  parent ;  merciless  to  compel  me  to  realise 
what  before  had  only  been  the  suspicions  of  evil  in  my 
brothers  and  sisters.  But  aunt  Colston  prided  herself 
upon  her  sense ;  it  was  her  mission  she  thought,  to  reprove 
and  direct.  No  doubt  she  acted  according  to  the  dictates 
of  her  own  conscience, — and  the  -guidance  of  Horatia 
Gray. 


CHAPTER    XVL 

My  dear  Sally, 

Lady  Emily  Rivers  is  to  come  and  see  me  to-morrow ; 
you  may  come  too,  if  you  like.     You  may  walk  in,  and 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  125 

Lady  Emily  will  take  you  back  in  her  carriage.  I  don't 
want  any  one  else.  I  send  you  my  blessing,  and  I  am 
your  affectionate  great  aunt,  Sarah  Mortimer. 

The  note  excited  a  commotion.  I  stupidly  forgot 
that  it  was  exclusive,  and  allowed  it  to  go  the  round  of 
the  luncheon-table ;  Horatia  having  expressed  a  great  wish 
to  see  the  waiting  of  that  '•'  dear  old  great  auttt;of  ours." 
I  saw  aunt  Colston's  colour  rise  as  she  read  it.  "Mrs. 
Sarah  Mortimer  need  not  be  afraid  of  our  intrusion,  I  am 
sure,"  she  said  pointedly.  "  I  did  myself  the  honour  of 
calling  four  days  since,  and  was  informed  she  was  not  well 
enough  to  see  me."  "  It  was  quite  true  that  aunt  Sarah 
was  ill  that  day,"  I  said,  "  for  Miss  Cole  sent  me  over  a 
note  to  tell  me  so."  "  Our  namesake  and  godchild  is  al- 
ways kept  well-informed  of  our  dear  old  aunt's  movements," 
said  Horatia,  with  a  laugh,  which  it  would  have  been  hard 
to  call  sarcastic,  though  it  irritated  me  almost  beyond  en- 
durance. "  Mrs.  Sarah  Mortimer  is  no  doubt  a  very  esti- 
mable old  lady,"  said  aunt  Colston ;  "  we  must  not  forget 
that  she  is  aged.  Aged  people  have  their  peculiarities. 
I  am  glad  to  find,  my  dear  Sarah,  that  you  have  so  con- 
ducted yourself  as  to  win  the  approbation  of  a  person  ad- 
vanced in  years."  "And  you  are  a  'protegee  of  Lady 
Emily  Rivers  also,  I  find,"  continued  Horatia ;  "  you  really 
are  fortunat'j."  "  Lady  Emily  is  very  kind  to  me,"  I  re- 
plied ;  "  I  don't  quite  know  what  you  mean  by  my  being  a 
proUg^eP  "  Lady  Emily  likes  having  proUg^es;  doesn't 
she,  aunt?"  continued  Horatia.  "She  is  always  taking 
up  something  new."  "  I  am  afraid  she  is  a  little  in- 
clined to  be  fickle,"  replied  my  aunt;  "at  least,  judging 
from  what  you  have  told  me."  "  Yes,  I  was  her  pet,  once," 
said  Horatia ;  "  but  that  was  in  the  days  '  lang  syne.'  I 
wish  you  joy  of  her  friendship,  Sarah,  as  long  as  it  lasts." 
She  rose  and  left  the  luncheon- table.  My  aunt  turned  to 
my  mother.  "  I  should  scarcely  think  it  desirable.  Fanny, 
to  encourage  a  great  intimacy  between  a  young  girl,  like 
Sarah,  and  a  person  of  Lady  Emily  Rivers'  age  and  po- 
sition. Independent  of  character, — and  I  have  reason  to 
believe  that  Lady  Emily  is,  as  I  just  now  expressed  it, 
fickle, — I  have  constantly  observed  through  life,  that  un- 
equal friendships  are  apt  to  have  an  injurious  effect ;  they 


126  THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE. 

make  young  persons  discontented  with  their  homes,  and 
encourage  longings  for  advantages  beyond  their  reach.     I 
should,  therefore,  advise  that  this  acquaintance  with  Lady 
Emily  be  kept  within  careful  limits."     My  mother  smiled, 
and  quite  agreed  in  the  danger  of  unequal  friendships  in 
ordinary  cases.     "  That  is  satisfactory.     I  am  glad  we 
take  the  s^e  view  of  the  case."     Aunt  Colston  followed 
Horatia's  example ;  and  as  the  door  closed  behind  her,  I 
exclaimed,  "  Oh  mamma  !  are  you  in  earnest  ?"     "  Quite, 
my  child, — in  ordinary  cases  ;  the  question  is,  whether  this 
is  an  ordinary  case."     "  Lady   Emily  Rivers  is  not  an 
ordinary  person,"  I  said.     "  No,"  and  my  mother  gave  me 
a  gentle  kiss ;  "  and  I  hope  my  Sarah  is  not  quite  like 
every  one  else."     "  But  what  would  make  you  object  ?  "  I 
continued,  fearing  that  aunt  Colston's  influence  might  be 
too  great  for  my  mother  to  resist.     "  If  Lady  Emily  were 
a  young  person  of  your  own  age,  I  should  rather  dislike 
an  intimate  acquaintance,"  replied  my  mother.    "  I  should 
think  that  on  her  part  it  might  be  a  passing  fancy,  merely 
the  result  of  circumstances,  and  that  greater  experience  of 
the  world  would  show  her  that  she   could  find  more  suit- 
able friends  in  her  own  station.     I   should  dread  disap- 
pointment for  you  then."     "  But  as  it  is,"  I  began,  anxiour 
to  have  her  full  approbation.     "As  it  is.  Lady  Emily  has 
seen  enough  of  life  to  form  her  own  opinion,  and  take  her 
own  course.     If  she  likes  you,  she  does  so  reasonably,  and 
unless  you  change,  she  is  not  likely  to  do  so.      Besides,  it 
is  not  a  title,  or  large  rooms,  or  a  number  of  servants,  but 
character  and  taste,  and  daily  occupations,  and   a  certain 
style  of  society,  which  constitute  inequality  in  its  objec- 
tionable sense.     Whilst  Lady  Emily  is  what  she  is,  and 
lives  as  she  does,  devoting  herself  to  her  family  and  the 
poor,  I  should  never  be  afraid  of  your  being  with  her." 
A  weight  was  removed  from  my  mind  ;  but  I  still  dreaded 
aunt  Colston's  influence,  and  hated  Horatia's  insinuations. 
The  latter,  however,  it  was  not  possible  to  believe  for    an 
instant,  when  again  in  the  company  of  Lady  Emily.     Her 
simple,  hearty  pleasure,  at  seeing  me.  was  unmistakeable. 
How  could  I  allow  anything  which  a  person  like  Horatia 
Gray  could  say,  to    weigh    against  it?     Besides,  Lady 
Emily  was  so  fond  of  aunt  Sarah,  and  aunt  Sarah  was  so 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  127 

won  by  her.  There  could  be  no  idea  of  patronage,  or  mak- 
ing a  protegee^  in  that  case,  whatever  there  might  be  in 
mine ;  so  I  dismissed  the  unpleasant  idea  from  my  mind, 
or  rather,  buried  it  in  a  dark  corner,  amongst  many  other 
of  Horatia's  unpleasant  suggestions. 

Lady  Emily  had  come  into  (^rsdale  on  the  old  busi 
ness  of  the  Fisherton  district.  She  and  my  :^jaunt  were 
busy  with  it  when  I  arrived.  Lady  Emily  had  lately  re- 
ceived a  rather  large  legacy,  with  which  she  was  anxious 
to  do  something  that  might  be  permanently  beneficial. 
Amongst  other  plans,  she  talked  of  establishing  a  girls' 
school.  Aunt  Sarah  was  not  very  much  charmed  with  the 
notion  at  first.  "  A  parcel  of  idle  children  collected  to- 
gether," she  said,  "  would  do  each  other  more  harm  than 
good ;  and  as  for  teaching  the  girls  to  write, — they  would 
only  learn  to  spend  their  time  in  love-letters  and  such 
folly."  Lady  Emily  bore  the  discouraging  remarks  very 
patiently,  and,  after  some  playful  discussion,  induced  her 
to  allow  that,  "  if  other  folks — dissenters,  and  so  forth — 
taught,  why  it  might  be  as  well  for  church  people  to  teach 
too."  "  Then  the  question  is,  how  we  are  to  teach,"  con- 
tinued Lady  Emily.  "  You  had  better  write  a  book  about 
it,"  said  aunt  Sarah.  Lady  Emily  laughed.  "  If  I  had 
money  to  spend  upon  a  school,"  continued  aunt  Sarah  ; 
"  and  it  is  what  I  never  shall  have  ;  it  should  not  be  a 
school  for  everybody,  but  for  somebody."  "  But  the  wants 
of  everybody  are  so  pressing,"  said  Lady  Emily.  "  What 
everybody  can  have,  nobody  cares  for,"  replied  my  aunt ; 
"  but  what  only  somebody  can  have,  everybody  is  striving 
after."  ""I  don't  quite  see  how  this  is  to  meet  our  diffi- 
culties in  the  present  instance,"  observed  Lady  Emily, 

"  Your  ladyship  wants  to  do  good  to  your  people,"  said 
my  aunt.  •'  Do  you  want  to  do  large  good,  or  lasting 
good  %  "  "  Both,  if  I  could,"  replied  Lady  Emily.  '^  But 
that  can't  be,  unless  there  is  a  gold  mine  at  Lowood," 
"  Well  then !  it  must  be  lasting,  I  suppose ;"  and  Lady 
Emily  looked  a  little  disappointed,  "  Lasting  is  large," 
continued  my  aunt ;  "  if  it's  not  wide,  it's  deep."  "  Yes ; 
but  one  does  not  live  to  see  it.  I  don't  mean  that  as  an 
argument,  only  as  an  expression  of  a  feeling,  which  is 
natural,  though  I  am  afraid  it  is  wrong."    "  All  the  safer 


128  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

for  US  that  we  don't  see  it,"  replied  my  aunt,  "  if  we  only 
set  to  work  the  right  way."  "  And  what  is  the  right  way  ? 
What  would  be  your  way  ?  "  "  My  dear,"  and  aunt  Sarah 
laid  her  hand  earnestly  upon  Lady  Emily's  ;  "  God  forbid 
that  I  should  call  my  way  the  right  way.  His  way  is  the 
right  way — faith  and  prs^er."  "  Yes,  but  you  have  some 
notions  ?"  :,4'  An  old  woman's  fancy,"  said  my  aunt,  "  when 
she  has  nothing  better  to  think  about.  They  have  set  up 
a  school  here,  in  Carsdale  ;  a  large  school  I  hear  it  is, — 
seventy  boys,  and  sixty  girls  :  fifty  years  hence  they  may 
be  doubled.  I  think  sometimes  what  will  come  to  them 
all,  when  I  hear  them  trooping  by,  hallooing  and  shouting ; 
not  that  they  mean  any  harm,  poor  little  bodies.  They 
can't  all  be  good,  nor  a  half,  nor  a  third  part,  probably ; 
and  the  bad  do  harm  to  the  good  ;  and  so  they  all,  it  may 
be,  get  little  profit  in  the  end.  But  I  have  thought,  some- 
times, that  I  should  like  to  go  into  that  school,  and  pick 
out  the  best — those  that  had  been  tried,  that  had  gone 
through  it,  and  come  out  with  some  hope  of  good  ;  and 
that  if  I  could  take  them  away,  with  a  character  to  stand 
upon,  and  set  them  apart,  and  help  them  to  keep  it,  and 
teach  them  sober,  honest  ways  of  gaining  a  livelihood,  and 
then  send  them  out  to  service,  with  a  fair  name,  and  a 
good  stamp  upon  them  ;■ — if  it  were  only  half  a  dozen  at  a 
time  that  could  be  so  chosen,  it  seems — God  knows  whether 
it  would  be  so — that  the  example  of  those  six  would  raise 
the  character  of  the  sixty."  "  It  is  a  subject  to  be  thought 
about,"  said  Lady  Emily :  but  I  saw  that  the  idea  of  de- 
voting her  means  to  the  few,  rather  than  the  many,  was 
discouraging  to  her  schemes  of  benevolence. — "  Yes,  to  be 
thought  about,  much,  and  very  carefully.  Doubtless  there 
would  be  great  difficulty  attending  it."  "  And  it  would 
be  a  very  small  good  after  all,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Lady 
Emily.  "  If  it  is  to  cease  with  your  ladyship's  life,"  re- 
plied my  aunt ;  ''  but  my  old  woman's  dreams  have  gone 
farther  than  that.  More  at  once,  and  less  every  year,  for 
those  who  can  afl"ord  it,  will  do  the  deep  good,  though  not 
the  wide.  If  such  a  school  were  founded,  and  endowed,  it 
might  be  that  it  would  cripple  your  means  for  many  years  ; 
but  it  would  go  on  from  generation  to  generation  ;  and 
when  you  were  sleeping  in  the  dust,  the  children  would 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  129 

*  rise  up  and  call  you  blessed.' "  "  But  six  only  out  of 
such  a  large  population,"  said  Lady  Emily.  "  I  said  six, 
because  I  would  think  of  the  smallest  number.  But  let  it 
be  six.  See  how  those  six  would  act  upon  the  others. 
Every  child  in  that  large  school  would  know,  that'  by  doing 
her  best,  there  was  a  hope  of  rising  to  what  would  and 
must  prove  a  respectable  position  in  life.  SvUbh  a  know- 
ledge must  have  an  effect."  "  But  there  would  be  many 
disappointments,"  said  Lady  Emily.  "  That  is  the  imper- 
fection of  us  vain  mortals,"  replied  my  aunt.  "  There  is 
but  One  who  can  give  the  same  blessings  to  all.  Yet  the 
child  who  had  tried  to  be  one  of  the  six  and  failed,  would 
be  better  off  than  if  she  had  never  tried  at  all."  "  I  should 
fear  there  might  be  a  difl&culty  and  an  opening  for  parti- 
ality in  making  the  selection,"  said  Lady.  Emily.  "  Not 
if  we  choose  to  profit  by  our  forefathers'  wisdom,"  replied 
my  aunt.  "  Why  do  our  public  schools  go  on,  one  gene- 
ration after  another,  and,  bad  as  they  are,  turn  out  good 
and  wise  men  t  Because  they  are  governed  by  laws,  and 
not  by  individual  will.  Every  child  that  knows  right 
from  wrong,  honours  a  law ; — there  is  dignity  in  it."  Lady 
Emily  shook  her  head  doubtfully,  "  You  want  a  Solon  to 
make  the  laws,"  she  said.  "  If  Solon  is  dead,"  said  my 
aunt,  "  we  must  do  without  him.  But  your  ladyship  won't 
take  to  the  notion  yet.  I  like  you  all  the  better  for  it. 
Think  it  over,  and  talk  to  wiser  folks,  and  then  come  to 
me  again,  and  say,  if  you  choose,  that  you  don't  agree.  I 
shall  be  glad  to  see  you  all  the  same,  for  mine  is  but  a  no- 
tion in  the  clouds ;  only," — and  aunt  Sarah  bent  forward 
and  spoke  more  eagerly, — "  let  me  tell  you  a  wish  that 
often  comes  when  I  sit  in  my  arm-chair,  and  think  of  what 
this  country  has  been,  and  what  it  may  be.  It  is  to  give  to 
the  children  of  the  poor,  that  which  many  a  time  saves  the 
children  of  the  rich — station,  and  self-respect.  Now,  a 
school,  exclusive  in  the  good  sense,  exclusive  of  evil,  that 
is,  gives  self-respect ;  and  a  school,  independent  and  lasting, 
gives  station.  A  child  is  raised  by  belonging  to  it.  There 
is  something  to  lose, — therefore  there  is  something  to 
hold  ;  and  the  effort  of  holding  exercises  the  moral  prin- 
ciple, and  helps  to  nftike  good  men  and  women.  It  is  a 
great  thing  for  this  country, — may  be,  much  of  the  best 
6* 


130  THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE. 

part  of  what  folks  call  national  character,  comes  from  it, 
— that  we  have  a  floating  rank,  not  hereditary,  formed  by 
our  old  endowments,  our  colleges  and  schools,  to  which  the 
middle  classes  may  hope  to  rise.  We  want  the  same  thing 
for  the  poor.  It  won't  keep  them  from  starving, — but  it 
will  give  them  a  reason  for  trying  not  to  starve."  "If  the 
government  would  but  come  forward !"  exclaimed  Lady 
Emily.  "  It's  not  the  government's  business,  that  I  can 
see,"  replied  my  aunt ;  "  it's  the  business  of  private  per- 
sons ;  and  it  has  always  been  done  by  private  persons. 
Even  if  it  has  been  the  work  of  kings  and  queens,  it  has  been 
in  their  private,  not  their  public  capacity.  Governments, 
English  governments  at  least,  don't  so  much  do  good,  as 
prevent  evil ;  and,  perchance,  they  are  right :  at  any  rate, 
as  the  world  goes,  they  can't  help  themselves.  Individuals 
create,  governments  uphold  and  check ;  and,  if  the  time 
should  come  when  governments  should  take  upon  them- 
selves to  do  more,  the  chances  are  that  their  work  would 
fail. — However,  that's  only  my  own  notion  ;  so  I  need  not 
trouble  you  with  any  more  of  such  talk :  but  God  guide 
you  to  the  right,  my  dear,  and  prosper  it." 

Lady  Emily  rose  to  go.  She  had  business  in  the  town, 
she  said ;  and  when  it  was  finished,  she  would  return  for 
me.  •'  And  you  won't  stay  and  dine  when  we  dine  ?"  said 
my  aunt.  "  Sally  hasn't  had  time  to  say  a  word  to  you." 
"  She  has  not  wished  to  say  much,  I  suspect,"  said  Lady 
Emily,  smiling  ;  '•  but  we  shall  be  able  to  talk,  when  we 
drive  home."  Aunt  Sarah  looked  at  me  affectionately. 
"  Your  ladyship  is  very  good  to  the  child,"  she  said  :  "  it 
gives  me  comfort  sometimes  to  think  so ;  she'll  be  sure  to 
want  a  friend  in  life,  for  a  large  family  brings  large  cares." 
"  She  has  a  kinder  and  better  friend,  now,"  began  Lady 
Emily  ;  but  aunt  Sarah  interrupted  her.  "  For  to-day, 
not  for  to-morrow.  Your  ladyship  will,  please  God,  be 
her  friend,  when  aunt  Sarah  is,  where  she  must  be  soon, 
— in  her  grave."  Lady  Emily  lingered  ;  unwilling,  as  I 
observed  she  always  was,  to  say  good  bye.  Betty  came  in 
to  lay  the  cloth  for  dinner.  "  Now  sit  down,"  said  my 
aunt  to  Lady  Emily,  pointing  to  a  chair ;  "  sit  down  and 
rest  for  a  few  minutes  longer, — and  Betty,  don't  fidget 
with  the  knives  and   forks,  but  bring  dinner."     "Your 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  131 

ladyship  will  just  eat  a  slice  of  roast  lamb,  and  drink  a 
glass  of  port  wine,  and  then  get  up  and  go  away.  Sally, 
find  out  Miss  Cole,  and  take  this  to  her,"  and  she  gave  mo 
a  bunch  of  keys,  "  and  bid  her  make  haste."  "  Please 
stay,"  I  said  to  Lady  Emily,  as  I  went  away,  and  I  saw 
she  could  not  refuse. 

That  was  a  Very  pleasant  little  dinner,  for  in  spite  of 
aunt  Sarah's  permission  to  Lady  Emily  to  go  whenever 
she  wished,  she  waited  till  the  cloth  was  removed,  and 
dessert  placed  upon  the  table.  We  conversed  upon  many 
subjects,  and  few  persons ;  and  my  thoughts  were  entirely 
withdrawn  from  the  anxieties  of  home.  I  dare  say  I  was 
particularly  sensible  of  the  quiet  simplicity  and  cordiality 
of  the  party,  in  contrast  with  aunt  Colston  and  Horatia. 

Lady  Emily  had  a  singular  faculty  for  harmonising 
herself  with  other  persons,  and  yet  preserving  her  own 
tastes  and  opinions.  By  the  time  dinner  was  over  she 
seemed  as  natural  an  inmate  of  aunt  Sarah's  parlour,  as  if 
she  had  been  accustomed  to  dine  there  every  day  of  her 
life.  She  knew  also  how  to  make  herself  perfectly  at 
home  without  in  the  least  infringing  upon  the  respect  due 
to  aunt  Sarah's  age,  and  position  in  her  own  house  ;  and 
even  Betty's  countenance,  which  had  assumed  a  grim  se- 
verity when  she  was  called  to  wait  upon  a  stranger, 
softened  beneath  the  charm  of  Lady  Emily's  smile  and 
voice,  as  she  begged  to  have  a  small  piece  more  of  the 
home-made  bread,  which  was  so  particularly  nice.  "  I  may 
take  Sarah  with  me  into  the  town,  may  I  not?  "  said'Lady 
Emily,  when  dinner  was  ended.  "  Since  I  have  been 
naughty,  and  left  my  business  for  to-day,  I  think  I  must 
give  myself  up  to  pleasure,  and  do  only  just  a  very  little 
shopping  ; — go  and  buy  my  children  some  new  dresses, 
amongst  other  things,  and  Sarah  shall  help  to  choose 
them."  "  Put  your  bonnet  on  quickly,  Sally,"  said  my 
aunt,  "  and  don't  keep  Lady  Emily  waiting."  I  was  ready 
in  a  very  few  minutes,  and  hastened  down  stairs.  Aunt 
Sarah  and  Lady  Emily  were  conversing  together,  but  they 
stopped  when  I  came  into  the  room ;  yet  I  heard  aunt 
Sarah  say,  "  I  don't  like  the  look  of  the  woman,  she  is  too 
bold ;  I  saw  her  flaunt  down  the  street  two  days  ago." 

A  ring  at  the  bell.     Lady  Emily  looked  alarmed  at 


132  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

the  prospect  of  visitors.  "  Show  the  people  up  staiis,  and 
ask  Miss  Cole  to  go  to  them,  Betty,"  said  aunt  Sarah  to 
the  servant,  who  was*  beginning  to  remove  the  dessert 
dishes,  "  and  don't  let  any  one  in  afterwards.  Miss  Cole 
is  set  free  in  the  afternoon,"  she  added,  turning  to  Lady 
Emily,  "  and  I  go  and  lie  down  for  an  hour."  Betty  was  in 
a  very  blundering  mood.  She  only  caught  the  latter  half  of 
the  sentence  imperfectly.  "  Her  mistress  was  engaged," 
I  heard  her  say.  "  Engaged,  is  she  ?  That  is  unfortu- 
nate." It  was  my  father's  voice.  Aui  t  Sarah  sent  me 
out  to  speak  to  him.  He  was  just  come  in  from  East  Side 
■ — Joanna  and  Horatia  were  in  the  town — he  had  walked 
in  with  them — he  was  .come  on  business  to  aunt  Sarah, 
which  would  only  keep  her  a  few  minutes.  Aunt  Sarah 
called  out,  "  Come  in,  Herbert ;"  and  my  father  went  in, 
and  Lady  Emily  and  I  departed. 

We  walked  down  the  street  in  silence.  A  train  of 
thought  was  suggested  to  me  by  this  sudden  visit  of  my 
father,  and  the  mention  of  business,  and  I  could  not  shake 
it  off.  I  had  scarcely  looked  at  him,  yet  I  had  noticed 
that  his  face  was  cloudy,  something  as  it  might  be  under 
the  influence  of  the  family  November  mist.  That  affair 
of  Vaughan's  was  hanging  over  our  heads  yet,  and  until  it 
was  decided,  one  way  or  the  other,  I  knew  neither  my  father 
nor  mother  would  be  at  ease.  Lady  Emily  allowed  me 
to  be  silent,  since  I  wished  it.  We  went  from  shop  to 
shop,  making  purchases,  and  I  liked  being  with  her,  and 
was  amused ;  but  I  still  went  on  brooding  over  some  dis- 
tant future,  and  doing  what  certainly  was  very  useless, 
and  I  suspect  was  very  wrong, — allowing  myself,  from  one 
slight  occurrence,  to  build  up  a  whole  fabric  of  possibili- 
ties. Our  last  business  was  at  the  linendraper's,  to  choose 
the  children's  dresses.  Whilst  we  were  there,  Joanna  and 
Horatia  came  in.  Lady  Emily  bowed  to  Horatia,  and 
shook  hands  with  Joanna,  who  instantly  drew  me  aside. 
"  Such  a  storm  there  had  been,  since  I  was  away  !  Aunt 
Colston  was  furious  ! — and  so  interfering  !  What  possi- 
ble business  could  it  be  of  hers  ?  What  right  had  she  to 
give  an  opinion  ?  There  never  was  such  a  woman  !" — 
and  then,  eager  to  repeat  all  news,  whether  good  or  bad, 
Joanna  gave  me,  m  a  torrent  of  confused  words,  the  clue 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  133 

to  my  father's  mood.  A  note  from  Mrs.  Blair,  enclosing 
one  from  her  brother-in-law,  had  again  brought  forward 
the  question  of  Vaughan's  prospects.  It  was  necessary  to 
make  a  decision.  Aunt  Colston  liad  been  present  when 
the  matter  was  discussed.  My  mother  was  decidedly 
against  Mr.  Blair's  ofl&ce,  even  if  Vaughan  did  not  go  to 
college.  Vaughan  himself  was  resolute  ;  my  father  waver- 
ing ;  aunt  Colston,  indignant  at  the  idea  of  a  man  with  a 
large  family,  and,  according  to  his  own  statement,  an  in- 
come only  just  sufficient  to  meet  present  expenses,  hesi- 
tating for  a  moment.  "  Common  sense  !"  repeated  Joanna, 
"  if  she  said  '  common  sense  !'  once,  she  did  fifty  times.  I 
am  sure  I  shall  hate  conimon  sense  for  ever,  if  it  is  to 
bring  such  storms."  "  And  was  Horatia  present  ?  "  I 
asked,  with  a  little  angry  curiosity.  "  Oh,  yes,  of  course  ; 
family  business  is  for  family  ears,  as  she  always  says  ;  so 
she  came  in,  just  as  if  it  was  her  own  concern  ;  but  she  did 
not  say  much,  except  to  repeat  every  now  and  then,  that 
no  doubt  our  expenses  must  be  great,  with  so  many  to 
provide  for,  and  put  out  in  life ;  and  living  in  such  a  com- 
fortable house,  with  a  nice  garden,  and  servants,  and  a 
pony-carriage,  and  all  the  luxuries  of  life.  What  she 
meant  by  it  all  I  don't  know,  but  aunt  Colston  preached  a 
sermon  upon  every  word  ;  and  we  were  told  that  it  was  the 
duty  of  girls  in  our  station  to  be  useful,  and  mend  our 
clothes,  instead  of  sitting  down  with  our  hands  before  us, 
as  if  we  were  to  inherit  fortunes.  The  only  one,  she  said, 
who  had  any  notion  of  work,  was  you,  Sarah."  "  And 
could  mamma  hear  all  this  ?  "  I  said,  indignantly.  "  Oh, 
it  did  not  all  come  out  before  her.  Papa  was  called  away 
just  as  it  began,  and  mamma  went  after  him,  and  then 
aunt  Colston  had  it  all  her  own  way ;  and  such  a  lecture  ! 
you  may  think  yourself  fortunate  you  were  not  there  ;  but 
then,  you  are  a  favourite."  "  Aijd  what  was  determined 
on  ?  "  I  inquired,  as  Joanna  paused,  breathlessly.  "  I 
am  sure  I  don't  know,  and  don't  much  care.  Papa  said  he 
should  walk  into  Carsdale,  and  Horatia  and  I  said  we 
would  go  with  him,  and  he  was  very  grumpy,  and  did  not 
speak  a  word,  except  to  tell  us  that  he  had  business  with 
aunt  Sarah."  "And  where  was  Caroline,  all  the  time?" 
''  Caroline  is  so  odd,"  replied  Joanna  ;  "  I  don't  think  she 


134  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

opened  her  lips,  except  when  mamma  declared  that  Mr. 
Blair  was  unlike  a  gentleman  ;  and  then  she  coloured  up 
and  said,  in  her  short  w^,  '  His  father  was  a  clergyman.'  * 
''And  what  brought  you  into  Carsdale  this  afternoon?' 
"  Oh  !  nothing  very  particular  ;  but  you  know  we  shall  be 
at  two  dinner  parties  next  week,  and  Caroline  and  I 
agreed  it  would  not  do  to  wear  our  old  dresses ;  so  I  just 
rame  in  to  look  at  Long's  patterns,  and  see  if  there  was 
>ny thing  that  would  do."  Joanna  moved  away,  and  I  did 
not  like  to  ask  more,  for  I  was  not  yet  fully  raised  to  the 
rank  of  an  elder  sister  of  the  family. 

Yet.  whilst  Lady  Emily  was  looking  over  some  plain 
gingham  dresses  for  her  children,  I  could  not  help  remark- 
ing the  handsome,  bright  coloured  silks  which  were  laid 
before  Joanna  and  Horatia ;  "  terribly  dear,"  as  I  heard 
Joanna  say ;  whilst  Horatia  added,  carelessly,  "  Dear 
things  are  often  the  cheapest  in  the  end."  We  went  out 
of  the  shop  before  any  purchase  was  made.  Lady  Emily 
shook  hands  with  Horatia  at  parting,  but  her  manner  was 
very  cold,  and  I  could  see  that  she  did  not  share  the  re- 
grets expressed  loudly,  or  rather  I  should  say  deeply — 
for  Horatia's  voice  was  decidedly  masculine — that  they 
had  not  met  when  Lady  Emily  called  on  Miss  Cleveland. 
Horatia  hoped,  however,  to  see  Lady  Emily  again  ;  for 
she  was  really  longing  to  do  so,  that  she  might  have  a  talk 
with  her  about  dear  Lady  Charlotte. 

"  We  will  turn  'into  this  street,  Sarah,"  said  Lady 
Eniily,  as  we  left  the  shop :  "  the  carriage  will  not  be 
ready  for  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour."  It  was  a  very 
quiet  street,  at  the  extremity  of  the  town,  and  it  ended  in 
a  country  lane  between  green  fields  and  hedges,  where  wo 
could  walk  without  interruption. 

After  we  had  gone  some  little  distance.  Lady  Emily 
said  to  me  abruptly,  as  if  she  was  making  up  her  mind  to 
begin  a  disagreeable  su"^ect,  "  You  have  had  time  now, 
Sarah,  to  see  something  of  Miss  Gray  ;  how  do  you  like 
her  ?  "  "I  can't  bear  her,"  I  exclaimed,  hastily  ;  and  then 
checking  myself,  I  added,  "  that  is,  I  don't  very  much 
fancy  her."  Lady  Emily  laughed.  "  Perhaps  the  first 
exclamation  was  the  true  one,  Sarah.  But  you  will  not 
mind  telling  me  honestly,  because  I  should  not  ask  from 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  135 

curiosity  ? "  "I  wanted  to  talk  to  you  about  her,"  I 
replied,  "  but  I  was  a  little  afraid.  I  fancied,  when  I  was 
at  Lowood,  you  did  not  like  it."  "  I  do  not  like  Cookson's 
gossiping,"  answered  Lady  Emily ;  "  but  hearing  your 
opinion,  or  giving  my  own,  is  something  very  different 
from  that.  You  would  not  care  to  speak  of  Miss  Gray, 
neither  should  I,  if  you  were  not  likely  to  be  thrown  with 
her."  "  She  interferes,"  I  said  j  "  I  don't  know  any  other 
fault."  "  No  doubt  she  does,"  continued  Lady  Emily, 
thoughtfully.  Then,  after  a  little  consideration,  she 
added,  "  You  won't  think  me  interfering,  I  hope?  "  "Oh  ! 
no,  no,"  I  exclaimed  ;  "  how  could  I  ?  "  "  But  you  have 
a  kind  mother,  who  is  always  watching  over  you ;  I  could 
not  bear  to  think  I  was  in  any  way  intruding,  by  giving 
advice  ;  only  in  this  case  I  hope  I  may  be  right.  Your 
aunt  Sarah  told  me  it  would  be  better  to  say  what  I  had 
to  say  to  yourself  first  ;  therefore — "  again  she  hesitated 
— "  I  want  you  to  be  upon  your  guard — not  to  be  led,  that 
is,  and  to  be  independent."  "  Independent  of  Horatia,  or 
of  every  one  ?"  I  asked.  "  It  was  thinking  of  Miss  Gray 
which  first  put  the  caution  into  my  mind,"  replied  Lady 
Emily.  "  She  is  very  clever,  and  she  has  a  very  free  man- 
ner, which  gives  the  notion  of  sincerity ;  but  I  should  be 
sorry  for  her  to  have  an  influence  in  your  family  as  she 
had  in  my  sister's,  for  I  fear  she  might  not  use  it  well. 
You  see,  Sarah,"  she  continued,  speaking  more  freely,  "  I 
cannot  go  to  your  mother  and  say  this  sort  of  thing, — it 
would  be  an  insult  ;  but  I  think  I  may  venture  to  do  so 
to  you,  because  I  know  so  much  more  of  you.  I  saw  a 
good  deal  of  Miss  Gray  at  one  time,  and  for  a  little  while 
I  fancied  she  was  sincere,  though  blunt,  and  we  were  very 
good  friends  then  ;  but  I  found,  afterwards,  that  I  was 
mistaken.  She  manoeuvred  to  raise  an  unpleasant  feel- 
ing between  my  sister  and  myself,  solely  to  suit  her  own 
purposes.  My  sister  was  an  invalid,  and  could  not  under- 
take the  management  of  her  own  affairs,  which,  in  conse- 
quence, devolved  upon  me  ;  and  this  displeased  Miss  Gray, 
and  she  tried  to  make  my  sister  jealous  and  suspicious, 
and  pretended  that  I  wished  to  make  quite  a  slave  of  her, 
and  not  let  her  have  a  will  of  her  own,  and  all  kinds  of 
absurdities,  which  a  person  in  weak  health  was  likely  to 


136  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF    LIFE. 

listen  to.  I  never  discovered  that  she  told  absolute  un- 
truths,— but  she  misrepresented  painfully.  She  does  not 
know  that  I  know  all  that  went  on  ;  but  my  sister  was  far 
too  open-hearted  and  too  fond  of  me  to  conceal  anything 
from  me  long  ;  and  the  end  was  that  we  found  an  excuse 
for  Miss  Gray's  going  away.  I  do  not  know  enough  of 
your  family  and  your  affairs  to  see  how  she  could  injure 
you ;  but  I  would  earnestly  warn  you,  my  dear,  not  to 
trust  her  too  far."     Lady  Emily  paused. 

I  tried  to  thank  her  for  her  kindness  ;  but  I  could  not 
help  adding,  "  I  wish,  with  all  my  heart,  she  had.  never 
come  near  us."  "  It  vexes  me  to  have  made  you  suspi- 
cious, Sarah,"  said  Lady  Emily.  '•  I  was  suspicious  be- 
fore," I  replied  ;  "  I  never  could  endure  her."  "  And  I 
have  made  matters  worse,"  continued  Lady  Emily.  "  I 
hesitated  a  long  time  before  I  ventured  to  say  what  I 
have.  Of  course  I  do  not  wish  you  to  keep  this  from 
your  mother,  in  fact,  I  told  you  in  order  that  you  might 
tell  her  ;  but  I  will  beg  as  a  great  favour  that  any  opinion 
of  mine  may  go  no  further."  We  turned  again  into  the 
town,  I  could  see  that  Lady  Emily  was  thoroughly  un- 
comfortable. "  One  longs  to  be  always  sure  of  having 
done  right,"  she  said.  '-  This  is  one  of  the  cases  in  which 
it  is  so  difficult  to  decide.  But  I  should  have  doubted 
much  more,  if  Miss  Gray  was  not  likely  to  live  near  you." 
I  stopped,  suddenly.  "  Horatia  Gray  !  to  live  near  us  !  " 
"  Surely  you  knew  it,"  said  Lady  Emily.  "  Miss  Cleve- 
land told  me,  three  days  ago,  that  it  was  your  aunt's  pur- 
pose." My  heart  sank.  "  I  must  indeed  have  appeared 
interfering,  if  you  did  not  know  that,"  continued  Lady 
Emily.  "  It  was  the  fact  which  decided  me  upon  speak- 
ing ;  and  even  then  I  should*  not  have  done  it,  without 
your  aunt  Sarah's  permission.  I  talked  to  her  about  it  a 
long  time  to-day,  before  you  came."  "  Aunt  Colston  near 
us  !  in  the  village  !  "  I  said ;  not  paying  the  least  atten- 
tion to  Lady  Emily's  apologies :  "  There  is  no  house  for 
her  ;"  and  hope  revived.  "  She  has  a  fancy  for  that  cot- 
tage with  the  pretty  garden,  half-way  between  Carsdale 
and  East  Side ;  so  Miss  Cleveland  says,"  replied  Lady 
Emily ;  "  and  means  to  take  it  from  next  spring,  when 
the  people  who  live  there  now  are  to  leave  it.     Your  uncle 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  13? 

Ralph,  I  believe,  found  it  out  for  lier;  but  really,  Sarah. 
I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  betraying  confidence.  I  had  not 
the  smallest  idea  that  it  was  not  a  plan  known  and  decided 
upon."  "  I  wish — I  wish  with  all  my  heart  that  they  had 
never  come  near  the  place,"  I  repeated ;  whilst  a  dread 
came  over  me — of  interference,  and  suggestions,  and  con- 
stant questionings  and  spyings.  "  Dear  child,  wishes  are 
sometimes  wrong,"  said  Lady  Emily,  "  or  I  could  wish, 
too,  for  your  sake ;  but  if  cares  come,  and  you  are  tired, 
and  want  rest,  you  will  think  of  a  little  bedroom  and  a 
hearty  welcome  ready  for  you  always  at  Lowood,  will  you 
not  ?  "  I  gave  her  a  kiss  in  the  lane — I  could  not  help  it. 
Just  then  I  could  not  have  disliked  any  one,  not  even 
Horatia  Gray. 

We  drove  home  ;  we  passed  the  cottage.  Horatia  and 
Joanna  had  stopped  there  on  their  return  ;  they  were 
standing  by  the  gate  looking  at  it.  By  their  side  was  my 
uncle  Ralph 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

I  MUST  pass  on  to  the  Christmas  of  the  following  year, — 
a  clear,  frosty,  exhilarating  Christmas, — when  the  roads 
were  hard,  and  even,  and  tempting ;  and  the  first  breath 
of  the  outer  air  was  a  shock  which  one  did  not  know 
whether  to  dread  or  to  enjoy;  and  the  sunshine  looked 
brightly  upon  the  world,  like  a  friend  who  would  give  smiles 
though  he  could  not  give  deeds  ;  and  one  lived  in  a  state 
of  perpetual  doubt  as  to  whether  to  be  happy  or  misera- 
ble. A  merry  Christmas  ! — merry  at  East  Side,  where, 
for  the  time,  care  was  cast  aside,  and,  as  if  by  one  con- 
sent, we  had  agreed  to  think  only  of  present  enjoy- 
ment,— merry  at  Lowood,  where  Mr.  Rivers  and  Lady 
Emily  had  collected  a  few  of  their  especial  friends, — merry 
in  the  cheerful  parlour,  where  Aunt  Sarah  and  Miss  Colo 
sat  by  the  blazing  fire,  reckoning  how  much  of  the  same 
comfort  they  might  be  the  means  of  giving  to  their  fellow- 
creatures, — merry  also  at  Clifton  Cottage,  the  residence, 
as  the  new  county,  guide-book  expressed  it,  of  Mrs.  Mon- 
tague Colston. 


138  IHE    EXPERIENCE    DF    LIFE. 

"  If  we  fix  upon  Tuesday,  we  shall  have  no  one,"  said 
Joanna,  drawing  the  arm-chair  closer  to  the  fire,  as  we  all 
sat  round  it  in  the  dusky  twilight,  and  placing  her  feet 
upon  the  fender ;  "  a  party  the  day  after  the  <30unty  ball 
is  absurd."  The  scene  was  aunt  Colston's  drawing-room. 
Shall  I  describe  the  apartment? — I  think  not.  Who  that 
has  ever  heard  of  aunt  Colston,  might  not  imagine  how 
proper  every  thing  in  her  house  would  be ;  how  well 
chosen  the  carpet,  sober  in  colouring,  and  rich  in  material ; 
how  substantial  and  handsome  the  book-cases  in  the  re- 
cesses by  the  fire-place  ;  how  admirable  the  order  of  the 
well-bound  books ;  how  exact  the  number  of  the  chairs, 
and  the  proportions  of  the  sofas,  with  their  beautifully 
neat  chintz  coverings  ;  what  space  there  would  be  to  move 
about  in,  not  one  table  too  many,  nor  a  vase  nor  a  stand 
that  could  be  inconvenient  ?  Aunt  Colston's  house  was 
the  embodiment  of  aunt  Colston's  mind :  could  it  be  other 
than  correct? 

And  could  Joanna,  then,  sit  with  her  feet  on  the 
fender,  and  talk  about  an  evening  party,  in  such  a  house, 
and  such  a  presence  ?  Poor  Joanna  !  she  had  little  per- 
ception of  the  individual  peculiarities  and  proprieties  of 
life.  Aunt  Colston's  severe  face  and  well-directed  hints 
were  quite  lost  upon  her ;  and  not  even  when,  upon  one 
occasion,  as  she  lounged  back  in  an  arm-chair,  a  pillow 
was  sent  for,  that  she  might  be  more  comfortable,  did  she 
perceive  the  sarcasm  that  was  implied.  She  went  on 
talking  now  in  her  usual  careless  way,  as  we  sat,  as  I  said, 
around  the  fire,  in  the  beginning  of  January.  We  had 
been  dining  at  the  cottage,  Caroline,  Joanna,  and  myself. 
It  was  becoming  a  duty  required  of  some  of  us,  at  least 
once  a  week  ;  and  on  other  days,  it  might  be  two  or  even 
three  out  of  the  seven,  my  aunt  and  Horatia  dined  with 
us.  I  do  not  know  what  other  people  may  think  of  such 
family  meetings,  but  these  were  to  me  very  trying.  Aunt 
Colston  was  coming, — therefore  we  were  not  to  make  any 
other  engagements.  She  criticised  our  mode  of  living , 
therefore  we  were  not  to  have  any  thing  which  might  seem 
extravagant :  but  she  was  particular  in  the  dressing  of  a 
dinner ;  therefore  special  instructions  were  to  be  given  to 
the  cook  not  to  let  the  mutton  be  too  much  roasted. 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  139 

She  did  not  like  early  dinners ;  therefore,  whatever  might 
be  our  wishes,  we  were  not  to  dine  before  six  o'clock.  She 
was  not  fond  of  reading  aloud ;  therefore  we  were  to  put 
aside  our  books  for  the  evening ;  but  she  liked  cheerful 
society ;  therefore  we  were  all  to  exert  ourselves  to  talk. 
Persons  may  laugh  at  us  for  submitting  to  such  a  yoke  ; 
but  I  doubt  if  any  one  could  have  escaped  it.  The  power 
exercised  over  us  was  indefinable ;  no  one  knew  exactly 
where  it  began,  or  where  it  ended.  It  would  have  required 
a  much  more  vigorous  mind  than  my  father's,  and  a  far 
more  se?lfish  spirit  than  my  mother's,  to  make  any  resist- 
ance. And  then  aunt  Colston  was  so  kind,  she  made  us 
so  many  presents,  she  was  so  sensible,  so  well  informed, 
she  had  such  good  judgment, — this  I  heard  said  every 
day, — it  was  quite  a  duty  to  show  respect  to  her.  And 
so  it  was,  and  the  attentions  required  were  but  trifling ; 
it  would  have  been  an  unkindness  not  to  show  them.  The 
fault  really  was  not  so  much  in  aunt  Colston,  though  I 
confess  I  think  she  was  inconsiderate,  as  in  the  mistaken 
idea  that  near  relations  can  go  in  and  out  of  each  other's 
houses  whenever  they  like,  and  not  disturb  the  domestic 
arrangements.  As  our  old  nurse  used  sometimes  to  say 
to  me,  when  she  was  particularly  worried ;  "  In  or  out, 
that's  what  I  like.  Let  people  live  in  your  house,  or  out 
of  it.  If  they  are  in  the  house,  one  knows  what  to  do 
for  them ;  and  if  they  are  out  of  it,  they  can  do  for  them* 
selves ;  but  it's  past  bearing  to  go  on  in  this  way." 

To  confess  the  truth,  I  was  a  little  inclined  sometimes 
to  agree  with  her.  The  visits  to  the  cottage  I  generally 
escaped  ;  I  was  not  strong  enough  to  risk  the  night  air  in 
an  open  pony-chaise,  and  though  my  aunt  kept  a  little 
close  carriage,  it  was  rather  troublesome  to  ask  for  it 
often  ;  so  that  I  was  generally  thei'one  to  remain  at  home, 
whilst  Caroline'  and  Joanna  went.  They  disliked  it, 
probably,  less  than  myself,  for  Caroline  was  indifi'erent  to 
my  aunt's  stiffness,  and  Joanna  was  insensible  to  it ;  and 
they  neither  of  them  shared  my  feelings  about  Horatia'a 
insincerity.  Joanna,  indeed,  professed  to  be  fond  of  her, 
and  Caroline  agreed  with  her  on  many  points.  On  the 
evening,  however,  to  which  I  refer,  a  special  invitation 
had  been  sent  to  me,  which  I  could  not  think  of  refusing ; 


140  THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE. 

and  the  carriage  came  for  me  at  five  o'clock,  and  leaving 
Herbert  and  Hester  in  the  highest  delight,  because  they 
were  to  have  an  early  tea  with  pap^,  and  mamma,  and 
Reginald,  I  drove  off,  rather,  I  think,  upon  the  whole,  liking 
the  change,  in  spite  of  Horatia. 

And  we  had  dined,  and  after  dinner  we  sat  round  the  fire, 
and  then  it  was  that  Joanna  sitting  with  her  feet  upon  the 
fender,  made  the  memorable  speech  to  which  I  have  twice 
before  referred.  It  caused  aunt  Colston  to  say,  in  her 
most  resolute  tone,  "  My  dear  Joanna,  I  should  like  to  be 
told  what  effect  a  county  ball  can  have  upon  a  child's 
party."  "Oh!  but  it  is  not  merely  a  child's "  party,"  re- 
plied Joanna ;  "  we  meant  to  have  some  grown  up  people." 
"  A  child's  party  I  was  informed  it  was  to  be,"  continued 
my  aunt;  "your  mother  told  me  so."  "  Oh,  yes  !  dear 
mamma !  she  thinks  so  now  ;  but  she  won't  think  so  long, 
will  she,  Horatia  ? "  "  Not  if  you  girls  have  set  your 
hearts  upon  the  contrary,"  said  Horatia,  her  voice  sound- 
ing as  if  it  came  from  under  the  floor ;  "  there  are  no 
girls  in  England,  are  there,  aunt  Colston,  who  have  their 
own  way  as  much  as  they  all  have  at  East  Side  ?  "  "  More 
than  is  desirable,  I  fear,"  said  my  aunt.  I  knew  at  once, 
from  her  tone,  that  a  storm  was  brewing.  "  Really, 
Joanna,"  I  said,  "  you  have  made  up  your  mind  very 
quickly  about  this  party ;  no  one  else  has  heard  of  any 
thing  except  inviting  a  few  children  to  keep  Hester's  birth- 
day." "  The  few  children  can't  come  alone,  my  dear 
Sarah,"  observed  Caroline ;  "  therefore  their  papas  and 
mammas  must  come  with  them  ;  and  if  they  are  all  going  to 
the  county  ball,  they  won't  be  able  to  come,  and  so  Joanna, 
for  once,  is  quite  right."  "  I  cannot  see  this  necessity  for 
enlarging  the  contemplated  party,"  interposed  my  aunt ; 
and  she  sat  quite  upright,  as  was  her  wont  when  particu- 
larly excited.  "  A  child's  party  is  very  well ;  the  chil- 
dren come  early  and  go  early ;  their  nurses  accompany 
them  ;  they  eat  bread  and  butter,  and  play  in  the  school- 
room. When  your  mother  asked  my  opinion  as  to  the 
desirableness  of  giving  little  Hester  a  treat  on  her  birth- 
day, as  a  reward  for  good  behaviour,  I  assured  her  I  saw 
no  objection ;  but  my  decision  would  have  been  far  differ* 
ent,  if  I  had  foreseen  that  the  first  idea  was  likely  to  ex 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  141 

pand  into  any  thing  like  a  regular  entertainment."  We 
were  silent.  0,  Joanna  !  why  had  she  ever  broached  the 
subject  ? 

Horatia  sat  reckoning  with  her  fingers:  "one,  two, 
three,  four,  five, — yes ;  it  will  be  the  fifth  party  in  the 
course  of  three  weeks :  if  you  are  not  the  very  gayest 
people  I  ever  met  with  !  "  I  am  afraid  I  spoke  hastily. 
"  Horatia,  begging  your  pardon,  I  think  that  is  an  exag- 
geration ;  I  should  like  to  know "     "  Hush  !  my  love, 

hush  !  control  yourself ;  Horatia  is  not  in  the  habit  of  ex- 
aggerating. Tell  your  cousin,  my  dear  Horatia,  what  the 
parties  are  to  which  you  refer."  Horatia  laughed.  "  My 
dear  aunt,  you  will  only  harrow  up  the  poor  child's  sensi- 
tive little  mind ;  she  tries  so  hard  to  believe  all  her  family 
angelsof  wisdom  and  sobriety."  "  I  try  to  believe  them 
what  they  are,"  I  replied,  as  unconcernedly  as  I  could ; 
"  but  it  is  not  a  question  about  the  family,  but  about  the 
parties  we  have  had  lately  which  I  want  you  to  answer." 
"  What  does  it  signify,  Sarah  ? "  interrupted  Caroline. 
"  I  dare  say  we  have  had  five  parties,  and,  if  it  should  be 
necessary,  we  must  have  five  more.  If  persons  have  a 
number  of  acquaintances,  they  must  take  trouble  to  keep 
them  up.  You  know  yourself  that  we  have  had  twice  as 
many  invitations  since  we  moved  to  East  Side  as  we  had 
before ;  we  take  in  the  country  now  as  well  as  the  town." 
The  subject  was  dropped.  I  was  learning  not  to  be  perti- 
nacious even  in  self-defence.  Horatia  proposed  to  ring 
for  candles,  and  left  the  room,  humming  the  air  of  "  Par- 
tant  pour  la  Syrie." 

When  we  were  preparing  to  return  home  that  evening, 
aunt  Colston  called  me  into  her  room.  She  was  grieved, 
she  said,  to  see  that  my  naturally  hasty  temper  was  not 
kept  under  more  strict  control.  Horatia  might  have  been 
wrong, — it  was  possible,  though  not  likely, — for  she  was  in 
general  scrupulously  exact;  but  she  might  in  this  in- 
stance have  erred  in  her  calculations ;  still  it  was  no 
reason  for  sharp  expressions  and  an  angry  tone.  The 
facts  alluded  to  were,  indeed,  substantially  correct ;  we 
were  a  gay  and  thoughtless  family.  It  might  seem  severe 
to  call  us  extravagant,  but  it  was  her  own  opinion  that  we 
were  so,  all  of  us,  without  exception.     What  answer  was 


142  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

to  be  made  to  such  a  sweeping  accusation?  I  attempted 
none,  "  I  have  now  been  with  you  many  months,"  con- 
tinued my  aunt,  ''  constantly  associated  with  you,  I  can  be 
under  no  mistake.  I  see  no  economy  in  the  household, 
no  thought  for  the  future, — nothing  but  a  wilful  determi- 
nation of  living  for  the  present.  Whether,  at  the  present 
moment,  my  poor  sister  could  arrange  her  affairs  better,  I 
cannot  pretend  to  say.  If  she  had  carried  out  a  syste- 
matic discipline  in  childhood,  doubtless  you  would  all 
have  been  different.  As  it  is,  the  children  are  fast 
escaping  parental  control.     Beginning  with  your  brother 

Vaughan  "     An  exclamation   escaped  me  which  I 

repented  the  next  instant :  ''  Vaughan  can  have  nothing 
to  do  with  this  offence."  My  aunt  waved  her  hand  for 
silence.  "  I  do  not  choose  to  be  interrupted,  Sarah.  Be- 
ginning with  your  brother  Vaughan,  supported  at  college 
by  Mrs.  Sarah  Mortimer."  "I  beg  your  pardon,  aunt 
Colston,"  I  said, — and  I  hope  I  really  tried  to  be  pa- 
tient, and  speak  respectfully, — "  but  my  father  bears  all 
Vaughan's  expenses,  except  forty  pounds  a  year,  allowed 
by  aunt  Sarah."  "  Mrs.  Sarah  Mortimer  of  course  knows 
her  own  affairs  best,"  replied  my  aunt ;  "  but  I  should 
have  supposed  a  woman  of  her  age  and  long  experience  of 
the  world,  would  have  hesitated  to  uphold  a  young  man 
like  Vaughan  in  a  proud  and  absurd  dislike  to  a  situation 
in  which  he  might  have  gained  affluence,  and  have  been  a 
help  rather  than  an  incumbrance  to  his  family.  "  Aunt 
Sarah  did  not  wish  to  uphold  Vaughan  in  pride,  I  am 
sure,"  I  ventured  to  reply  ;  "  I  heard  her  myself  say  that 
if  it  had  always  been  proposed  to  him  to  be  a  merchant, 
and  he  had  never  before  objected,  she  should  have  thought 
it  his  duty  to  submit ;  but  that  she  considered  it  incum- 
bent upon  parents  to  keep  faith  with  their  children,  and 
therefore,  as  he  had  always  been  brought  up  with  the  idea 
of  going  to  college,  she  was  anxious  to  assist  my  father  in 
fulfilling  his  engagement."  "  Very  plausible,"  replied 
my  aunt,  with  a  short,  dry  cough ;  "  I  wish  I  could  add, 
very  sensible.  But  I  do  not  wish  to  distress  you,  Sarah, 
by  any  remarks  upon  your  aged  relative  ;  I  have  only  to 
observe  now,  that,  beginning  with  your  brother  Vaughan, 
and  ending  with  your  sister  Hester,  there  is  not  one,  ex- 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  143 

cept  perhaps  Reginald,  who  is  not  lamentably  profuse  in 
personal  expenditure.  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  state  this 
opinion  and  give  this  warning ;  I  shall  leave  it  to  you  to 
oommunicate  it  to  your  brothers  and  sisters." 

Aunt  Colston  was  right ; — that  was  the  provoking 
part  of  the  interview. 

Of  course,  then,  we  gave  up  the  idea  of  a  large  party, 
and  contented  ourselves  with  inviting  a  few  children  to 
keep  Hester's  birthday. 

No.  I  cannot  say  by  what  infatuation,  or  wilfulness, 
or  thoughtlessness,  we  always  contrived  to  do  the  very 
thing  which  we  at  first  declared  to  be  exti'avagant ;  but  so 
it  was.  One  resolute  will  in  a  family,  whether  in  man  or 
woman,  parent  or  child,  governs  it.  My  father  might 
demur,  my  mother  suggf^st,  Joanna  might  complain,  and 
I  might  argue,  but  if  Caroline  set  her  heart  upon  any 
single  thing,  that  thing  was  done ;  and  Caroline  had  de- 
termined that  we  should  give  a  large  party,  and  a  large 
party  we  were  to  have. 

I  cannot  say  that  I  disliked  the  idea ;  it  is  very  long 
before  worldly  prudence  can  get  the  better  of  youthful 
spirits,  and  at  my  age  it  would  have  been  difficult  not  to 
enter  into  any  scheme  of  enjoyment.  Besides,  I  could 
not  see  with  aunt  Colston's  eyes.  I  had  misgivings  that 
all  was  not  quite  what  it  should  be  in  our  mode  of  living ; 
but  I  did  not  think  that  one  party  more  or  less,  could 
make  any  material  difference.  What  Caroline  herself 
urged,  when  my  mother  talked  of  expense,  appeared  to  me 
reasonable  enough ;  it  was  not  curtailing  in  one  thing 
which  would  do  any  good,  and  one  large  party  would  serve 
the  purpose  of  ten  smaller  ones,  and  be  in  the  end  deci 
dedly  economical. 

And  so  it  might  have  been,  if  we  could  have  kept  our 
plans  within  due  limits  ;  but  they  swelled  daily.  First  it 
was  to  be  a  carpet  dance  for  the  children  ;  then  for  the 
brothers  and  sisters  who  might  accompany  them  ;  then  a 
carpet  was  troublesome,  and  it  must  be  taken  up,  and  if 
this  was  done,  people  would  expect  good  music,  and  a  reg- 
ular dance,  and  then  we  must  have  a  supper.  And  so  the 
idea  grew,  hour  by  hour,  till  at  length  even  Caroline  her 
self  was  startled  at  the  magnitude   which  it   assumed 


144  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

She  was  curiously  quiet  and  self-possessed  all  the  time ; 
not  in  the  least  excited,  or  seemingly  much  interested.  I 
never  saw  a  person  enter  upon  pleasure  more  methodically. 
In  this  she  was  totally  different  from  Horatia,  who,  from 
the  moment  she  found  we  were  determined  upon  the  par- 
ty, in  spite  of  Aunt  Colston's  warning,  appeared  to  throw 
herself  heart  and  soul  into  our  plans.  "  Exceedingly 
good-natured  of  dear  Horatia,"  as  my  aunt  observed,  "  so 
unselfish,  setting  aside  her  own  feelings  and  wishes."  And 
Aunt  Colston  stood  aside  with  a  sober  and  mournful  gaze, 
and  Horatia  laughed  and  told  us  before  her  that  we  were 
naughty,  and  obstinate,  and  horribly  extravagant ;  and  as 
soon  as  she  was  absent,  urged  all  kinds  of  petty  expenses, 
which  were  certain  to  be  playfully  brought  forward  against 
us  at  the  first  opportunity. 

Aunt  Sarah  sympathised  with  us  to  a  certain  extent ; 
if  she  had  not,  I  might  have  been  more  doubtful  of  the 
wisdom  of  our  proceedings  than  I  was.  She  murmured 
and  grumbled  a  little  at  first,  and  told  us  we  were  silly 
bodies,  and  walking  was  much  better  exercise  than  danc- 
ing ;  but  when  she  found  the  party  was  determined  upon, 
she  assisted  us  in  sundry  ways,  saying,  as  she  one  day  put 
ten  pounds  into  my  hand :  "  There,  Sally,  I  can't  give 
that  to  your  mother,  she  would  be  affronted ;  but  Caroline 
is  housekeeper,  so  tell  her  to  pay  the  music  folks,  and  let 
me  know  what  it  all  costs."  "  It's  Christmas  time,"  she 
muttered  to  herself,  I  suspect  as  a  half  apology  for  such 
weakness  ;  "  young  things  will  skip  about  at  Christmas  ; 
but  mind,  Sally,"  she  added,  assuming  a  severe  tone,  "  no 
folly  and  nonsense  ;  have  what  you  want,  but  don't  have 
more."  The  warning  and  the  kindness  together  were  not 
thrown  away.  Caroline  was  quite  wise  enough  to  know 
that  aunt  Sarah  would  not  be  trifled  with.  She  spent  the 
money  as  it  was  intended ;  gave  a  proper  account,  and 
the  music  was  the  best  managed,  most  prudently  ordered 
part  of  our  proposed  entertainment. 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  145 


CHAPTEK    XVIII. 


The  day  of  tlie  party  drew  near ;  the  press  of  business 
was  great ;  Joanna  had  gained  her  point  in  postponing 
the  dance  till  people  had  had  time  to  recover  from  the 
county  ball ;  and,  in  consequence,  the  answers  to  the  invi- 
tation were  upon  the  whole  satisfactory.  This  was  set- 
ting aside  the  excuse  of  Hester's  birthday ;  but  the  whole 
thing  was  so  entirely  altered  from  its  original  intention  that 
it  did  not  much  signify.  The  children,  delighted  at  the 
excitement,  were  quite  willing  to  relinquish  any  special 
festivities  for  themselves,  and  were  satisfied  with  having  a 
continual  holiday,  because  there  was  so  much  to  be  done. 
It  is  very  pleasant  to  give  one's  self  up  for  a  little  while 
to  this  kind  of  merry  bustle ;  very  pleasant,  that  is,  when 
•one  is  young,  and  when  care  has  not  settled  itself  so  firm- 
ly in  one's  heart  as  never  to  be  displaced  by  any  outward 
circumstances.  I  do  not  think  I  ever  spent  a  more  light- 
hearted  three  days  than  those  preceding  our  grand  party. 
We  were  all  bent  upon  one  object, — all  willing  to  work  to 
the  utmost.  My  mother  rejoiced  to  see  us  happy  ;  my 
father  liked  any  thing  which  roused  him  ;  Caroline  was 
thoroughly  satisfied  in  her  position  as  commander-in-chief, 
issuing  orders,  and  receiving  willing  and  prompt  obedi- 
ence ;  and  the  rest  of  us,  including  Vaughan,  who  was  at 
home  for  the  Oxford  vacation,  were  in  a  state  of  perpet- 
ual wonder  and  delight  at  our  skill  in  nailing  up  ever- 
greens, and  making  artificial  flowers.  As  for  aunt  Colston, 
she  kept  to  her  cottage,  whilst  Horatia  wandered  back- 
wards and  forwards  to  criticise  and  report  progress. 

"  You  are  getting  on  famously,  I  see,"  she  said,  as  she 
appeared  suddenly  in  the  dining-room  on  the  first  day 
when  we  began  our  work  of  ornamenting.  "  We  shall  do 
by-and-bye,"  said  Joanna,  not  even  turning  round  to  look 
at  her,  so  entirely  was  she  engrossed  in  twining  some  ev- 
ergreens round  a  stand  upon  which  lights  were  to  be 
placed.  "  Aladdin's  palace  will  be  nothing  to  yours,"  con- 
tinued Horatia :  "  and  in  what  form  are  you  great  ladies 
going  to  appear  on  the  night  of  this  celebrated  fete  1 " 
'*  Our  own,  I  hope,"  I  said,  laughing :  "  you  would  not 
7 


146  THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE. 

have  us  come  forth  as  Eastern  princesses,  I  suppose.'' 
"  Indeed  !  I  don't  know. — I  doubt  if  any  thing  less  will 
suit  you."  "  I  have  a  new  white  muslin  frock,"  said  Hes- 
ter, whose  mind  had  been  much  occupied  that  morning 
with  the  business  of  trying  it  on.  "  Have  you  indeed, 
little  one ;"  and  Horatia  stooped  down  and  gave  her  a 
kiss  ;  "  and  has  sister  Sarah  a  white  muslin  frock  too  ?  " 
"  Yes ;  but  Sarah's  is  not  new,"  said  Hester.  "  Sarah 
won't  have  a  new  frock."  "  Oh  !  fie  !  fie  !  —  not  have  a 
new  frock  on  such  a  grand  night !  They  will  take  sister 
Sarah  for  a  housemaid."  Hester  coloured  crimson. 
"  They  may  take  her  for  what  they  like,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  but  they  won't  make  her  so.  She  never  looks  like  a 
housemaid,  does  she  Herbert  ? "  The  two  children  stood 
up,  side  by  side,  prepared  boldly  for  my  defence.  "  Sis- 
ter Sarah  teaches  spirit  to  her  pupils,  at  any  rate,"  said 
Horatia,  with  a  laugh.  "  Never  mind,  my  pretty  chil- 
dren, sister  Sarah's  a  wise  woman,  and  knows  what  she's 
about."  I  don't  know  what  there  was  in  the  tone  of  this 
observation  that  struck  me  unpleasantly,  but  I  was  foolish 
enough  to  reply, — "  that  I  certainly  did  know  what  I  was 
about. — I  was  anxious  to  save  my  money,  and  make  an 
old  dress  do  instead  of  a  new  one."  "  Vastly  sapient ! " 
replied  Horatia  ;  "  quite  beyond  our  age.  What  do  the 
elder  sisters  say  to  the  old  white  muslin  dress  ?  "  "  Oh  ! 
Sarah,"  exclaimed  Joanna,  who  had  been  attracted  by  the 
last  observation,  "  you  can't  really  be  so  absurd  ! — the  no- 
tion of  making  yourself  such  a  figure  !  Why  !  the  dress 
is  a«year  old."  I  have  worn  it  very  little,"  I  replied'; 
"  and  I  am  having  it  altered :  the  great  advantage  of  a 
dress  of  that  kind  is,  that  when  it  is  washed  it  looks  as  if 
it  was  new."  "  Oh  !  no,"  replied  Joanna  ;  "  Caroline,  do 
come  here  and  listen  to  what  Sarah  says."  Caroline  came 
forward  with. the  air  of  decided  good  judgment.  "  Well," 
was  all  she  condescended  to  say.  "  It  is  merely  the  ques- 
tion of  new  lamps  for  old  in  Aladdin's  palace,"  said  Horatia. 
"  Our  sapient  princess  thinks  the  old  lamp  the  most  valu- 
able ;  and  doubtless  she  has  the  best  of  reasons  for  such 
a  conclusion."  The  sarcastic  smile  on  her  face  was  intol- 
erable to  me.  I  had  naturally  a  quick  temper,  and  I  have 
no  doubt,  that  although  I  did  not  speak,  my  countenance 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  147 

showed  that  I  was  considerably  annoyed.  "  One  would 
wear  sackcloth  to  be  thought  a  saint,  would  one  not  ?  "  con- 
tinued Horatia,  turning  away  fronl  me  and  addressing 
Joanna.  "  I  don't  know,"  replied  Joanna,  honestly  ;  "  I 
should  not  like  it."  "  St.  Anne  !  St.  Margaret !  St.  Lucy  ! " 
continued  Horatia,  "  I  don't  think  I  ever  heard  of  a  St. 
Sarah !  did  you  Hester  ?  Sister  Sarah  will  be  the  first 
saint  of  the  name."  Hester  looked  at  her  in  perplexity. 
"  I  dislike  this  kind  of  bantering  very  much,  Horatia,"  I 
said  ;  "  I  shall  really  be  obliged  if  you  will  stop  it."  Ho- 
ratia laughed  merrily.  "  Touched,  I  declare  !  but  saints 
should  never  be  out  of  temper.  She  won't  be  Saint  Sa- 
rah, if  she  talks  so,  will  she,  Hester  ? "  "  Run  to  the 
school-room,  and  fetch  my  scissors,  Hester,"  I  said  :  "  and 
Herbert,  go  too,  and  see  if  you  can  find  another  sheet  of 
coloured  paper.  And  now  Horatia,"  I  added,  when  the 
children  were  gone,  "  will  you  let  me  say,  seriously,  that  I 
dislike  this  conversafion  before  the  little  ones.  I  can't 
reply  to  it,  or  I  should  lose  my  temper  ;  so  you  will  oblige 
mp,  I  am  sure,  by  not  repeating  it."  "  Then  you  will 
oblige  me  by  not  wearing  a  shabby  old  dress."  I  really 
could  not  be  angry  a  moment  longer ;  her  tone  was  so  ex- 
ceedingly good-natured  ;  but  I  was  not  going  to  yield, 
though  I  smiled. — I  said  she  "  must  allow  me  to  be  ob- 
stinate, and  take  my  own  way."  "  And  you  must  allow 
me  to  take  mine,"  and  she  ran  out  of  the  room,  calling 
out  "good-bye ;  I  quite  forgot,  it  will  be  dinner  time." 

We  were  lingering  the  next  morning  in  the  school- 
room, after  breakfast,  the  dining-room  being  now  useless, 
when  a  large  mercer's  parcel  was  brought  in  and  laid  upon 
the  table  before  me.  It  contained  half  a  dozen  handsome, 
but  expensive  dresses.  A  lady  had  directed  them  to  be 
sent  to  East  Side  for  Miss  Sarah  to  look  at.  "  Horatia 
must  have  ordered  them,"  said  Joanna,  examining  them 
leisurely.  Was  I  to  be  pleased  or  angry  7  "  They  are 
very  beautiful,"  I  said,  "  but  they  will  not  do  for  me. 
Now,  Caroline,  what  are  we  to  set  to  work  upon?"  This 
would  be  the  very  perfection  of  a  dress  for  you,  Sarah ;" 
and  Joanna  took  the  silk  out  of  the  parcel.  "  I  should 
wear  it  once,  and  put  it  by  for  ever,"  I  replied.  "  Please, 
Joanna,  don't  unfold  any  more."     "  Only  this  one."     I 


148  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

was  going  away,  but  the  door  opened,  and  aunt  Colston 
and  Horatia  came  in.  Horatia  rushed  up  to  the  table,  as 
if  the  sight  of  the  silks  had  quite  overpowered  all  thought 
of  civility.  "  Are  not  they  enchanting  dresses  ? — fit  for  a 
duchess  1 "  she  exclaimed.  '•  Fit  for  a  duchess,  indeed," 
observed  aunt  Colston,  solemnly.  "  I  am  much  obliged 
to  you  for  sending  them,  Horatia,"  I  said,  "  for  I  knew  at 
once  it  must  have  been  your  thought ;  but  really  I  am 
Borry  you  gave  the  people  the  trouble ;  you  know  I  never 
intended  to  have  one."  "  Oh  !  Sarah  !  Sarah  !  what  shall 
we  say  next ! "  and  Horatia  held  up  her  finger  in  playful 
threatening.  "  You  should  have  made  up  your  mind  yes- 
terday, Sarah,"  said  my  aunt :  "  it  is  a  long  distance  from 
Carsdale  to  East  Side."  "  It  is  entirely  Horatia's  do- 
ing," I  began  ;  but  Horatia  caught  up  my  words :  "  Yes, 
entirely  my  doing, — entirely  my  choice ;  I  spent  half  an 
hour  yesterday  afternoon  in  looking  at  the  handsomest 
dresses  in  Long's  shop ;  there  were  no  others  at  all  equal 
to  these."  "  No,"  observed  aunt  Colston,  her  tone  deepen- 
ing in  solemnity, — "  they  must  have  been  by  far  the  best 
in  the  shop,  and  the  most  expensive.  It  is  a  great  pity, 
Sarah,  that  you  should  have  allowed  them  to  be  sent  out, 
if  you  had  no  intention  of  making  a  purchase.  Still, 
though  I  very  much  dislike  this  fickleness  of  determina- 
tion, I  confess  that  I  shall  think  better  of  your  sober  judg- 
ment, if  you  keep  to  your  determination,  and  resist  the 
temptation."  ^ 

I  felt  more  cross  at  the  word  temptation  than  I  can 
possibly  describe.  Temptation  !  it  was  no  temptation  to 
me.  I  could,  as  far  as  I  was  concerned,  have  seen  the 
silks  thrown  into  the  fire,  without  a  shadow  of  regret. 
Not  being  able  to  trust  myself  at  the  moment  with  a 
reply,  Horatia  answered  for  me. — "  It  is  easy  to  resist 
temptation,  when  there  is  a  good  motive,"  she  said,  with 
a  very  peculiar  emphasis.  "I  am  sure,  aunt,  that  for  the 
sake  of  pleasing  you,  Sarah  would  give  up  the  most  splen- 
did dress  that  ever  was  made."  "  You  are  very  kind,  my 
dear,  to  say  so.  I  only  wish  I  could  think  that  I  had  the 
influence  which  you  imagine ;  things  would  be  different 
from  what  they  are ;"  and  aunt  Colston  sighed  deeply. 
I  really  could  not  allow  this  absurd  scene  to  go  on ;  and 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  149 

feeling  that  my  words  were  likely  to  be  taken  up  and 
diverted  to  a  contrary  meaning,  I  contented  myself  with 
quietly  closing  the  parcel.  "  Self-command,  I  see,"  ob- 
served my  aunt,  with  a  look  of  approbation.  I  fear  it 
was  praise  very  ill  deserved.  "  And  now  to  the  scene  of 
the  future  festivities  !  "  said  Horatia.  Aunt  Colston  drew 
back.  "  You  won't  have  any  thing  to  do  with  such 
naughtiness,  aunt  ?  "  said  Horatia,  laughing.  "  You  won't 
see  how  many  beautiful  stands  for  wax  candles  Joanna 
has  been  ornamenting  ? — and  you  won't  give  your  opinion 
about  the  coloured  lamps  ?  "  "I  prefer  not,  my  love  ;  what 
I  do  not  approve  I  have  no  wish  to  sanction  by  my  pres- 
ence. When  I  have  seen  my  sister  I  shall  return  to  the 
cottage."  She  had  no  sooner  left  us  than  Horatia  once 
more  unfastened  the  parcel.  "  Now,  Sarah,  don't  be  angry, 
but  you  really  must  have  one  of  the  dresses.  They  are 
not  at  all  expensive  of  their  kind ;  and,  in  fact,  I  was  so 
sure  you  would  take  one,  that  I  gave  it  as  a  reason  for 
sending  them  out:"  "  Then,  indeed,  Horatia,"  I  exclaimed, 
"you  gave  a  reason  which  "you  had  no  right  to  give.  I 
beg  your  pardon  for  saying  so ;  but  I  am  not  going  to 
be  teased  into  an  extravagance."  "  Or  into  displeasing 
aunt  Colston,"  said  Horatia,  with  that  same  indescribable 
smile  of  withering  sarcasm  which  I  had  before  felt  it  so 
difficult  to  bear.  Her  meaning  flashed  across  me  sud- 
denly. "  You  think  I  have  an  object  in  winning  aunt 
Colston's  favours,"  I  exclaimed.  Horatia  was  silent  for  a 
moment ;  then  she  said,  in  a  tone  still,  determined,  and 
calm,  and  utterly  unlike  her  usual  brusque  indifference, — 
"  Your  own  conscience  will  best  answer  that  question."  I 
doubt  whether  any  mind  can  in  a  moment  rise  superior  to 
a  sudden  and  vague  accusation."  She  spoke  so  strongly, 
that  I  actually  hesitated  to  deny  the  charge,  "  It  may 
be  of  little  consequence  to  you,"  continued  Horatia,  her 
manner  evincing  the  sarifb' inward  but  thoroughly  con- 
trolled excitement,  "  whether  or  hot  you  succeed  in  gain- 
ing that  which  I  have  considered  my  place  in  aunt 
Colston's  estimation.  You  have  a  father  and  mother, 
brothers  and  sisters, — you  live  in  the  midst  of  friends  and 
luxuries. — I  have  nothing ; — nothing,"  she  repeated  ;  and 
she  sat  down  and  leant  her  head  upon  her  hands.     I  stood 


150  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

by  her  quite  bewildered.  "  My  dear  Herat ia,"  I  said, 
you  really  are  conjuring  up  a  phantom  to  distress  yourself. 
What  have  I  to  do  with  gaining  aunt  Colston's  esteem  ? 
Of  course  I  should  be  glad  for  her  to  like  me,  but  it  is 
impossible  for  me  ever  to  come  in  your  way  ; — and  what 
has  all  this  to  do  with  buying  a  silk  dress  ?  It  really  is 
absurd  to  make  such  a  fuss  about  a  trifle."  "  Yes,  ab- 
surd,— quite  absurd,"  she  exclaimed,  starting  up.  '■  How 
foolish  I  was  to  speak  !  Yet  if  you  were  in  my  place, — 
but  we  won't  talk  of  it," — and  there  came  a  deep  sigh. 
"  We  will  forget  all  that,  Sarah."  "  So  you  won't  take 
the  dress  after  all  ?  Well,  you  are  very  wise  ;  I  wish  I 
could  be  the  same."  I  was  not  very  wise.  I  was  exces- 
sively weak ;  but  I  was  not  eighteen,  litUe  used  to  the 
ways  of  the  world,  shrinking  with  the  most  acute  feeling 
from  the  least  suspicion  of  a  double  motive.  I  fancied  that 
by  one  act  I  might  convince  Horatia  of  the  folly  of  her 
suspicion ;  and,  quite  forgetting  the  warnings  I  had  re- 
ceived from  Lady  Emily  Rivers,  I  said,  as  she  began 
slowly  to  fast^  the  string  round  the  parcel, — "  there  is 
no  hurry,  I  can  think  about  it."  *'  As  you  like,"  said 
Horatia,  carelessly ;  yet  unfastening  the  string  again. — 
"  It  is  of  no  consequence.  I  must  contrive  an  excuse  for 
the  trouble  the  people  have  had ;"  and,  without  another 
words,  he  left  me. 

My  mother  came  into  the  room  very  soon  afterwards. 
I  was  still  standing  at  the  table,  looking  at  the  open  par- 
cel, feeling  that  it  was  silly  to  be  undecided,  but  urged  by 
an  impatient  longing  to  do  something  which  might,  as  it 
were,  clear  myself  from  suspicion.  "  Doubting  about  the 
new  dress, my  child?"  she  said,  in  the  tone  of  gentle  fond- 
ness in  which  she  always  addressed  us.  "  Suppose  we  go 
shares  in  the  expense.  I  should  not  like  to  see  you  dif- 
ferent from  your  sisters."  It  was  only  a  half  satisfaction 
which  I  felt;  I  had  been  so  thoroughly  annoyed;  yet  I 
do  not  think  my  mother  noticed  my  manner.  I  thought 
I  would  tell  her  all  that  had  passed ;  but  it  seemed  un- 
kind to  Horatia ;  so*  I  kissed  her,  and  thanked  her,  and 
we  chose  the  silk.  .  When  Horatia  came  back,  I  said  that 
my  mother  wisned  me  to  have  it,  and  had  taken  half  the 
expense.     "  Oh  !  very  well ! "   was  the  reply.     I  did  not 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  151 

know  till  afterwards  that  it  was  Horatia  who  had  suggest- 
ed, in  my  mother's  presence,  how  much  I  wished  for  the 
dress ! 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

"  And  to-morrow,  you  young,  silly  things  are  going  to  jump 
about  all  night,  instead  of  lying  quietly  in  your  beds,  are 
you?  "  said  aunt  Sarah,  speaking  to  Hester,  who  had  walked 
with  me  into  Carsdale  on  some  housekeeping  business,  no 
one  else  being  at  leisure.  Hester  clapped  her  hands  in 
glee ;  "  Yes  ;  and  Herbert  and  I  are  to  sit  up  as  long  as 
ever  we  like ;  and  there  are  to  be  so  many  people  ;  and 
the  dining-room  looks  so  lovely ! "  "  And  you  mean  to  en- 
joy yourself  too,  do  you,  Sally?"  continued  aunt  Sarah. 
"  I  hope  so,"  I  said ;  but  my  voice  could  not  have  been 
very  cheerful,  for  I  was  feeling  far  from  well ;  the  fatigue 
of  the  last  few  days  had  been  too  much  for  me ;  and  So- 
latia's uncomfortable  suspicions  had  depressed  my  spirits. 
"  Here,  child,"  said  aunt  Sarah,  pointing  to  the  footstool, 
which  had  become  my  accustomed  seat  whenever  I  was 
with  her  ;  "  sit  down  and  rest  yourself,  and  have  a  quiet 
mind  for  a  few  minutes,  if  you  can ;  and  Hester,  run  away 
and  see  what  Molly  and  Betty  are  doing."  Hester  com- 
plied willingly,  for  the  two  old  servants  petted  her  uncom- 
mqnly,  had  allowed  her  to  do  any  thing  she  liked,  except 
touch  the  lemon  plants  ;  and  her  happiness  was  complete 
when  she  was  told  to  ask  Molly  to  give  her  some  bread 
and  butter,  and  to  draw  some  beer  into  the  great  earthen- 
ware cup,  the  figure  of  a  stout  little  man,  which  usually 
went  by  the  name  of  Toby. 

"  And  now,  Sally,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  my  aunt, 
when  Hester  was  gone.  I  could  not  help  smiling  as  I  an- 
swered,— "  Something,  aunt  Sarah,  for  you  won't  let  me 
say,  nothing."  "  To  be  sure  not,  child.  Nothing  is  for 
fools  or  babies."  "  "Well  then,  aunt  Sarah,  it  is  a  weary 
world ;  and  I  have  a  pain  in  my  back,  and  a  headache,  and  I 
think  I  should  like  to  lie  down  and  go  to  sleep."  "  Umph  ! 
you  are  not  used,  Sally,  to  look  glumpy  because  your 
head  aches;  that  is  not  it.      What  have  you  got  on 


152  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

your  mind  ?  "  "  That  I  am  not  as  good  as  I  should  be," 
T  replied.  "  You  will  live  a  pretty  long  time  before  that's 
off  your  mind ;  may  be  the  thought  will  grow  worse  as 
you  grow  older.  Speak  out  plainly,  child,  and  say  what 
is  the  matter."  "  I  would  if  I  could,"  I  said,  "  but  I  reallv 
don't  know.  I  am  sure,  though,  you  understand  the  feel 
ing,  when  every  thing  seems  to  go  wrong,  and  yet  there  is 
nothing  particularly  amiss."  "  To  be  sure  I  do ;  every 
one  does.  But  I  will  tell  you  how  I  manage,  Sally,  when 
it  comes.  I  sit  down ; — years  ago  I  might  have  knelt 
down ;  for  we  are  truer  with  ourselves  when  we  kneel  than 
when  we  sit ; — and  I  make  it  a  business  to  find  out  what 
is  the  matter.  If  it's  a  fault  of  my  own,  I  say  a  prayer 
for  myself;  and  if  it's  a  fault  of  other  people's,  I  say  a 
prayer  for  them ;  and  if  it's  neither  one  nor  the  other, 
why  then  I  send  for  the  doctor."  "  And  if  it  is  all  three  ?  " 
I  said.  "Why  then  I  take  all  three  remedies.  So 
now.  child,  set  to  work  and  think."  "  I  don't  believe  it 
requires  much  thought,"  I  replied  ;  "  I  know  quite  well, 
I  am  cross ;  and  that  must  be  my  own  fault."  "  Yes, 
surely  ;  whatever  troubles  us,  if  we  are  cross  we  are  wrong." 
"  But  I  will  tell  you  what,  aunt  Sarah,"  I  said,  "  it  is  easier 
to  be  good-tempered  in  a  small  family  than  a  large." 
"  Possibly  ;  but  that  is  no  excuse."  "  You  are  very  hard 
upon  me,"  I  exclaimed,  laughing ;  "  you  won't  let  me  have 
the  shadow  of  an  apology."  "  I  thought  you  wanted  to 
find  out  what  you  were  wrong  in,"  answered  my  auat. 
"  Well,  perhaps  I  do ;  but  still  I  should  like  to  make  a 
good  case  for  myself,  if  I  could ;  and  with  so  many 
brothers  and  sisters,  and  so  many  things  to  do  and  to 
think  of,  and  not  too  much  money  to  do  it  all  with,  home 
is  trying,  aunt  Sarah."  It  wouldn't  be  trying  to  an  angel, 
Sally,"  said  my  aunt.  I  sighed — it  was  my  only  answer. 
"  Home  life,  such  a  life  as  yours,  is  very  trying,  Sally,"  con- 
tinued aunt  Sarah.  "  An  old  woman  like  me,  sitting  in 
an  arm-chair  all  day,  I  dare  say  can't  tell  half  how  trying  : 
but  it's  not  the  things  themselves  which  are  in  fault ;  it's 
because  we  don't  let  them  do  the  work  they  are  intended 
for.  Cross  words  are  meant  to  make  us  gentle,  and  delays 
teach  patience,  and  care  teaches  faith,  and  press  of  busi- 
ness makes  us  look  out  for  minutes  to  give  to  God,  and  dis- 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  153 

appointment  Is  a  special  messenger  to  summon  our  thoughts 
to  heaven.  If,  when  they  all  come,  we  would  seek  not  to 
run  away  from  them,  but  to  learn  God's  lesson  in  them, 
we  should  soon  leave  off  calling  them  trying."  "  And  if 
we  find  we  always  are  running  away  from  them  ?  "  I  asked. 
Then  there  lies  the  fault ;  and  we  had  best  pray  God  to  for- 
give it,  and  set  ourselves  to  mend  it ;  and  remember, 
child,  we  all  have  some  lessons  to  learn  ;  if  they  are  not 
many,  they  are  long,  and  that  is  the  difference  ofttimea 
between  large  families  and  small,  old  people  and  young : 
but  it  all  comes  to  the  same  end."  "Then  we  must 
never  allow  that  others  are  in  fault,"  I  said.  "What 
makes  you  talk  such  nonsense,  Sally  ?  I  dare  say  at 
East  Side  they  are  in  fault  all  day  long  ;  Caroline,  and 
Joanna,  and  the  rest  of  them,  and  that  Miss  Gray  at 
the  head  ;  and  if  they  are  worrying,  you  may  be  sorry  for 
them,  and  have  a  thought  of  them  when  you  say  your 
prayers ;  but  that  is  all  your  business  with  them,  and 
when  it  is  finished,  you  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  make 
the  best  use  of  the  trouble  for  yourself"  "  I  think  it 
would  be  easier,"  I  said,  "  if  the  worries  were  not  so  con- 
stant ;  but  they  actually  haunt  me.  I  find  myself  think- 
ing of  them  all  day  long."  "  Then  turn  them  out  by 
others,"  said  my  aunt.  I  looked  up  at  her  to  ask  her 
meaning.  "  People  who  are  much  troubled  with  home 
worries,"  sho  continued,  "  grow  tired  of  fighting  with  them 
always  in  the  same  way,  however  good  the  way  may  be, 
as  a  man  would  be  sick  at  heart  if  he  had  to  fight  a  giant 
always  with  the  same  weapons ;  and  then  they  sit  down 
idle,  and  the  worries  gain  the  day.  But  if  there  are  other, 
troubles  ready  at  hand  to  take  their  place,  why  it  makes 
a  change^nd  gives  fresh  spirit  and  ease,  if  it's  only  by 
shifting  me  effort  from  the  right  hand  to  the  left."  "  I 
don't  think  I  quite  understand,"  I  said.  "  There  is  no- 
thing difficult  in  it,  child.  The  worries  come  to  me,  some- 
times, in  my  arm-chair ; — troubles  about  all  of  you,  or 
Miss  Cole — and  thought  of  things  that  may  happen  when 
I  am  in  my  grave :  but  if  there  comes  a  knock  at  the 
door,  and  a  starving  woman  asks  for  a  loaf  of  bread,  why 
that's  a  new  care,  and  it  turns  the  old  ones  out ;  and 
after  a  time  I  go  back  to  them  quite  fresh.  Depend 
7* 


154  THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LITE. 

upon  it,  Sally,  people  who  have  two  sets  of  troubles  ar« 
better  off  than  those  who  have  only  one."  "  Then  tho 
best  thing  I  can  do,"  I  said,  '■  is  to  find  out  some  sad 
distress  to  think  about  in  another  family.  I  cannot  see 
how  it  is  to  be  done  though,  for  I  know  little  enough  of 
the  people  about  us."  "  Then  the  sooner  you  do  know, 
the  better,"  continued  my  aunt.  "  That  we  did  not  know, 
will  never  serve  our  turn  when  the  Great  Day  of  account 
comes."  I  was  struck  with  the  seriousness  of  her  manner, 
and  felt  rather  ashamed  of  excusing  myself  by  saying  that 
I  had  so  much  to  do  at  home  it  had  never  occurred  to  me 
that  it  could  be  a  duty  to  think  of  any  thing  beyond.  "  It 
is  a  common  blunder  enough,"  observed  my  aunt,  "  and 
no  wonder  such  a  child  as  you  should  fall  into  it.  Be- 
sides, it  is  not  your  duty  to  go  about  and  preach  to  the 
poor  people,  like  the  clergyman  ,-  nor  to  build  their  cot' 
tages,  and  see  that  they  have  plenty  of  work,  and  don't 
starve,  like  Mr.  Kivers."  "  And  what  else  is  to  be  done, 
then  ?  "  I  inquired.  "  Where  there's  a  will  there's  a  way," 
replied  my  aunt.  "  Your  mother  is  a  kind-hearted  wo- 
man, I  know,  and  finds  out  a  good  deal  that  is  going  on 
about  her ;  go  and  ask  her  if  you  can  do  any  thing  to 
help ;  and  there  is  Lady  Emily  Rivers,  too,  she  has  half 
a  parish  on  her  hands ;  tell  her  you  would  like  to  make  a 
baby's  frock,  or  a  flannel  petticoat,  or  to  do  something,  no 
matter  what,  she  will  put  you  in  the  way ;  and  by-and-bye 
you  may  get  to  know  something  about  the  people  and  their 
troubles,  and  then  you'll  begin  to  feel  that  there's  some- 
thing in  the  world  to  care  for  and  think  about  outside 
your  own  gate ;  and  so  by  heeding  other  people's  worries, 
may  be  you'll  forget  your  own.  Not,  Sally,  that  forget- 
ting one's  own  is  the  reason  for  doing  the  ki^ness,  but 
it's  the  blessing  which  God  grants  ;  and  many  a  time 
when  we  are  swallowed  up  with  care,  it's  just  because  we 
have  not  taken  His  method  for  getting  rid  of  it."  "  You 
will  let  me  say  one  thing  to  you,  aunt  Sarah,  won't  you  ?  " 
I  replied,  "  for  you  know  I  like  to  do  every  thing  you 
recommend,  but  I  do  not  think  you  can  imagine  how 
very  little  time  I  have  to  myself."  My  aunt  turned 
slowly  round  in  her  chair,  and  stretching  out  her  hand  to 
a  bookcase  which  stood  close  to  her  in  a  recess  near 


THE   EXPERIe'nCE   OP   LIFE.  155 

the  fireplace,  took  from  it  a  volume  of  the  works  of 
Jeremy  Taylor.  Then  carefully  adjusting  her  spectacles, 
she  read  to  me  the  following  passage.  : — '•  He  that  is  in 
debt  is  not  excused  from  giving  alms  till  his  debts  are 
paid,  but  only  from  giving  away  such  portions  which 
should  and  would  pay  them,  and  such  which  he  intended 
should  do  it.  There  are  crumbs  from  the  table,  and  the 
gleanings  of  the  harvest,  and  the  scatterings  of  the  vintage, 
which  in  all  estates  are  the  portion  of  the  poor  ;  which, 
being  collected  by  the  hand  of  Providence,  and  united 
wisely,  may  become  considerable  to  the  poor,  and  are  the 
necessary  duties  of  charity."  "  That,  Sally,  was  the  say- 
ing of  a  sensible  man  ;  and,  being  sense,  it  holds  good  for 
every  thing ;  for  time  as  well  as  alms.  Time  may  be 
owed  ever  so  entirely  as  a  duty  at  home,  but  the  frag- 
ments belong  to  the  poor ;  and  we  are  bound  to  see  that 
they  have  them.  There  is  no  excuse  for  any  one — not 
for  a  lawyer,  nor  a  merchant,  nor  a  statesman  ;  for  if  it 
can't  be  given  in  deeds  and  words,  it  can  and  must  be  in 
prayers.  And  now,  child,  that  I  have  put  the  notion  into 
your  head,  just  ask  yourself,  when  next  you  think  about 
such  matters,  whether,  perchance,  when  you  are  what  you 
call  cross,  it  is  not  because  you  harp  too  much  upon  your 
own  troubles,  and  give  too  little  heed  to  other  persons." 

Aunt  Sarah's  observations  required  some  consideration 
to  enable  me  fully  to  comprehend  and  carry  them  out, 
but  they  certainly  had  the  effect  of  diverting  my  thoughts 
from  myself,  as  I  set  out  with  Hester  for  Miss  Green's 
house,  in  the  back  street ;  and  as  I  walked  along,  I  found 
myself  watching  the  poor  people  who  passed  by,  pondering 
what  the  trials  of  their  lives  might  be,  and  wishing  that  I 
could  at  once  see  some  straight  and  easy  way  for  reliev- 
ing them.  So  far  the  conversation  had  done  me  good  ; 
but  I  am  not  sure  whether  perfect  rest  would  not  have 
been  better  for  me.  I  felt  more  and  more  unwell  as  I 
went  on,  giddy  and  inclined  to  be  faint ;  and  when  we 
reached  Miss  Grreen's,  my  first  request  was  for  a  glass  of 
water.  Hester  looked  frightened  ;  and  Miss  Green  beg- 
ged me  to  lie  down  on  the  black  sofa ;  but  I  persuaded 
myself  that  I  was  better,  and  proceeded  to  business. 

The  dress  was  brought  down  ;  as  Miss  Green  remarked^ 


156  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

in  true  dress-making  phraseology,  it  was  "  very  genteel." 
Hester  was  in  ecstacies  ;  "  her  darling  Sarah  had  never 
worn  any  thing  so  beautiful  before  ! "  It  had  been  tried 
on  the  day  previous,  but  she  insisted  upon  seeing  me  in  it 
again ;  and  I  confess  that  I  was  niot  unwilling  to  gratify 
her.  There  is,  I  suspect,  a  pleasure  in  wearing  a  new 
dress,  independent  of  personal  vanity  ;  somewhat  derived 
from  the  neatness  and  stiffness,  somewhat  more  from  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  one's  own  well-known  form  and  fea- 
tures, under  a  new  combination,  like  the  change  of  the  figures 
in  a  kaleidoscope.  But  be  that  as  it  may,  I  put  on  the 
dress,  and  Miss  Green  pulled  and  adjusted,  with  pins  in 
her  mouth,  ready  for  any  emergency,  and  decided  that  it 
wanted  a  very  little  taking  in  at  the  waist,  and  then  it  would 
quite  do  ;  and  I  twisted  myself  round,  and  looked  over  my 
shoulder,  into  the  large  pier-glass,  and  felt  decidedly 
pleased,  but  terribly  giddy  ;  and — a  knock  at  the  door. 

"  Only  the  Miss  Mortimers,  Ma'am.  Miss  Green  will 
attend  you  directly."  There  was  an  arrival.  Horatia 
Gray, — with  her  my  aunt  Colston.  I  do  not  think  ] 
spoke.  I  am  certain  I  felt  guilty.  "  We  have  just  finish- 
ed trying  on  Miss  Sarah's  dress,  said  little  Miss  Green. 
She  began  unfastening  it.  Aunt  Colston  stood  rigid  as  a 
statue,  with  her  cold  eyes  fixed  upon  my  handsome  silk. 
Horatia  came  up,  and  in  a  loud  whisper  said  that  I  was 
queen-like.  She  smoothed  down  the  folds  of  the  dress  as 
she  spoke.  The  touch  was  intolerable.  I  sat  down  on 
the  sofa,  partly  to  escape  from  it,  partly  because  I  felt  so 
ill.  I  have  a  clear  remembrance  of  aunt  Colston's  look, 
— determined  and  contemptuous  ; — but  that  was  all,  and 
I  fainted  away. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

The  long  anticipated  party  was  fully  attended, — the  rooms 
were  beautiful, — the  lights  brilliant, — the  music  was  good, 
and  the  dancing  kept  up  with  spirit.  I  heard  it  all  from 
others ;  but  I  was  not  present  myself  My  mother,  and 
aunt  Sarah,  and  the  doctor,  and  even  my  own  sense,  con- 
sidered that  I  should  be  much  better  away  from  such  a 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  157 

Bcene  of  excitement ;   and  after  the  first  feeling  of  disap 

? ointment  was  over,  I  was  well  satisfied  with  the  decision, 
flattered  myself  that  my  absence  was  regretted,  for 
though  I  never  danced,  and  was  not  equal  to  much  fatigue, 
I  was  a  useful  Cinderella  on  such  occasions,  and  was  able 
to  manage  many  little  troublesome  duties  which  would 
have  interfered  with  the  enjoyment  of  others.  Poor  little 
Hester,  I  really  believe,  did  not  recover  her  spirits  again ; 
and  many  and  piteous  were  the  requests  made  that  she 
might  come  and  sleep  at  aunt  Sarah's  to  keep  me  compa- 
ny. The  evening  over, — the  pleasure  gone  by, — and  every 
one  turned  with  satisfaction  to  the  thought  that  there  was 
one  person  to  whom  all  the  little  incidents  of  the  party 
might  be  repeated,  and  who,  it  was  quite  certain,  would 
take  an  interest  in  them.  A  perfect  levee  of  visitors  ap- 
peared at  aunt  Sarah's  on  the  following  day  :  very  few 
were  admitted ;  but  the  members  of  my  own  family  were 
naturally  the  exception  ;  and  Caroline  and  Joanna  drove 
into  Carsdale  in  the  afternoon,  for  the  express  purpose  of 
sa^tisfying  my  curiosity.  They  came  just  when  aunt  Sarah 
was  lying  down,  and  Miss  Cole  was  gone  out ;  so  I  had 
them  to  myself  in  the  parlour.  Nothing,  they  said,  could 
have  gone  off  better.  Every  one  was  delighted.  They 
had  not  heard  of  one  contre-temps  ;  and  aunt  Colston  be- 
ing away,  all  were  at  their  ease.  I  had  never  believed 
that  aunt  Colston  would  stay  away,  though  she  had  threat- 
ened to  do  so ;  and  I  expressed  some  surprise  that  Hora- 
tia  had  not  persuaded  her  after  all  to  relent.  "  Relent," 
exclaimed  Joanna  ;  "  if  she  did,  it  would  be  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life !  JBut  we  did  not  want  her ;  and  Horatia 
knew  that  very  well ;  and,  moreover,  something  has  gone 
more  wrong  than  usual  the  last  few  days ;  we  are  all  wo- 
fuUy  out  of  favour,  you  especially  ;  and  she  actually  talks 
of  letting  her  house  for  a  month  or  six  weeks,  and  going 
up  to  London.  Business,  she  says,  it  is,  which  obliges  her 
to  go  ;  and  then  she  looks  very  mysterious,  as  if  she  wished 
us  all  to  ask  what  business ;  but  we  take  care  not  to  do 
that."  "  But  letting  a  house  is  not  such  an  easy  matter  in 
Carsdale,"  I  said.  "  That  is  settled,"  observed  Caroline, 
shortly.  "  Mr.  Blair  has  taken  the  cottage."  '•  Oh !  yes," 
and  Joanna's  eyes  sparkled  with  eager  amusement ;  "  I  for 


158  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

got  to  tell  you. — Last  evening,  when  nearly  all  were  arrived, 
and  we  were  wondering  what  had  become  of  Mrs.  Blair,  the 
door  was  opened  twice  as  wide  as  there  was  any  occasion, 
and  in  walked  Dr.  Blair  and  Mrs,  Blair,  and,  rising  like  a 
great  giant  behind  them,  Mr.  Blair ;  so,  of  course,  our  dear 
elder  sister  was  in  the  height  of  felicity,  and  devoted  her- 
self to  the  man-mountain  all  the  evening,  and  gave  up 
dancing,  and  played  two  rubbers  of  whist,  and  won  them 
both ;  and  the  end  was,  that  they  managed,  somehow  or 
other,  to  make  a  most  comfortable  arrangement,  by  which 
the  man-mountain  is  to  take  aunt  Colston's  house  for  six 
weeks,  and  an  unmarried  sister  is  to  come  there,  and  he 
himself  is  to  be  up  and  down  constantly.  What  they  all 
mean  by  it  I  don't  pretend  to  know.  Caroline  is  the  only 
one  in  their  secrets ;  but,  certainly,  I  never  saw  more  de- 
voted attention  than  our  two  friends  give  and  receive." 
"  You  don't  mean  really,  Caroline,  that  you  like  Mr.  Blair  ?" 
I  said,  a  little  startled  at  this  information.  "  That  is  a 
question  I  shall  answer  to  him  when  he  chooses  to  ask  it," 
replied  Caroline,  haughtily,  "  but  to  no  one  else."  I  Ihe- 
quired  no  other  reply.  "  Well,  I  don't  know  that  Caroline 
is  so  wrong  after  all,"  observod  Joanna,  jumping,  as  was 
her  wont,  to  a  rapid  conclusion,  and  expressing  it  without 
reserve.  "  People  must  be  married  if  they  mean  to  be 
happy.  I  should  not  choose  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Blair  my- 
self ;  but  then  tastes  differ,  and  any  thing  is  better  than 
being  an  old  maid."  "  Like  aunt  Sarah,"  I  observed, 
rather  pointedly.  "  Oh  !  you  are  bewitched  with  aunt 
Sarah.  I  never  will  argue  with  you  about  her."  "  Aunt 
Sarah  is  a  very  good  person,"  observed  Caroline ;  "  but 
there  is  no  question  that  she  would  have  held  a  much 
higher  position  in  general  estimation  if  she  had  been  mar- 
ried." "  That  I  doubt,"  was  my  answer.  "  Then  you  argue 
against  acknowledged  facts,"  replied  Caroline.  "  Yes," 
added  Joanna,  "  only  think  for  a  moment  how  every  one 
laughs  at  old  maids,  and  how  silly  they  make  themselves, 
and  how  cross  they  are ;  it  is  absurd,  Sarah,  to  stand  up 
for  the  race,  as  if  you  had  made  up  your  mind  to  belong  to 
them."  ''  Aunt  Sarah  is  neither  silly  nor  cross,"  I  said. 
"  No,  but  she  is  an  exception ;  you  won't  find  one  old  maid 
in  a  hundred  like  aunt  Sarah."    "  But  still,"  I  said,  "  the 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  159 

fact  of  there  being  one  such  old  maid  as  aunt  Sarah, 
proves  that  it  is  possible  for  single  persons  to  be  superior." 
"  Oh  !  yes,  possible,  but  not  probable.  And,"  continued 
Caroline,  "  I  still  assert,  that  if  a  woman  is  respected  when 
she  is  single,  she  will  be  yet  more  respected  if  she  is  mar- 
ried." The  sound  of  aunt  Sarah's  walking-stick  was  heard, 
as,  assisted  by  Betty,  she  came  down  the  stairs.  Caroline 
went  forward  to  offer  her  help,  for  she  never  neglected  an 
attention.  Aunt  Sarah  took  her  arm,  and  was  placed  in 
her  chair  by  the  window,  and  then  began  to  question  them 
about  the  party,  whilst  I  sat  silent,  thinking  upon  the  Sub- 
ject we  had  been  discussing.  It  was  a  puzzling  one,  for  I 
felt,  with  Caroline,  that  I  had,  in  a  great  measure,  argued 
against  acknowledged  facts ;  yet  the  idea  of  there  being 
necessarily  any  inferiority  in  a  single  life,  was  so  repugnant 
to  my  love  for  aunt  Sarah,  and  perhaps  also  to  my  secret 
persuasion  of  being  destined  to  the  same,  lot  myself,  that 
I  could  not  bear  to  entertain  it.  I  thought  and  thought, 
and  perplexed  myself  more  and  more,  and  forgot  that  my 
abstraction  was  not  likely  to  escape  aunt  Sarah's  vigilant 
eye,  till  I  was  roused  by  a  gentle  tap  on  the  shoulder  with 
the  long  walking-stick,  and  an  inquiry  what  my  poor  little 
tired  brain  was  working  at  now.  "  Sarah  is  settling 
whether  she  would  like  to  be  an  old  maid,"  exclaimed 
Joanna,  forgetting  that  the  subject  might  not  be  agreeable. 
"  I  don't  think  Sally  is  troubling  herself  with  any  thing  so 
silly,"  replied  my  aunt.  "  Why  should  she  try  to  settle 
what  is  sure  to  be  settled  for  her  ?  "  ''  Oh,  but  it  is  not 
quite  settled  for  us,"  replied  Joanna.  "  They  say  there  is 
no  woman  who  could  not  have  been  married,  if  she  had 
chosen  it."  "  As  she  may  choose  to  be  hanged,"  said  my 
aunt.  "  We  have  all  had  that  kind  of  choice."  "  Oh  ' 
but  you  would  be  so  particular,  aunt  Sarah,"  continued 
Joanna.  "  Particular  !  child,"  replied  my  aunt,  quickly  ; 
"  and  if  people  are  not  particular  when  they  are  asked  to 
marry,  when  are  they  to  be  particular  ?  You  can't  buy  a 
new  husband  as  you  can  a  new  dress."  "That  is  what  I 
think,  aunt  Sarah,"  I  said.  "  Joanna  declares  women  must 
be  married  if  they  mean  to  be  happy  ;  and  Caroline  says, 

. "    I  paused,  for  I  felt  the  colour  rise  to  my  cheeks. 

''  Go  on,  child : "  and  aunt  Sarah  smiled,  and  tapped  mo 


160  THE   EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE. 

again  on  the  shoulder  ;  "  you  can't  talk  upon  such  a  sub* 
ject  to  a  better  person  than  an  old  maid  of  seventy-four.' 
"  Well,  then,"  I  continued,  regardless  of  Caroline's  frowns. 
"  if  you  really  won't  mind  what  I  say,  do  you  think,  if  one 
is  not  married,  one  shall  not  be  so  much  respected  ?  ' 
"  That  is  a  difficult  question,"  replied  my  aunt  :  "  may  be 
there's  a  wiser  answer  than  mine  to  be  given  to  it."  She 
turned  the  pages  of  her  Bible  and  read, — ''  The  unmar- 
ried woman  careth  for  the  things  of  the  Lord,  that  she 
may  be  holy  both  in  body  and  in  spirit ;  but  she  that  is 
married  careth  for  the  things  of  the  world,  how  she  may 
please  her  husband."  "  There's  a  better  chance  of  respect, 
Sally,  in  set^ng  one-self  to  please  Grod  than  to  please 
man."  "  Oh  !  then,  aunt  Sarah  is  going  to  turn  Roman 
Catholic,  and  say  that  people  ought  not  to  marry,"  ex- 
claimed Joanna.  "  Aunt  Sarah  is  not  going  to  do  any 
thing  of  the  kind,"  said  my  aunt,  in  a  tone  of  unusual  se- 
verity, which  made  poor  Joanna  shrink.  "  Aunt  Sarah 
thinks  that  when  God,  in  his  Providence,  gives  affections, 
and  points  out  the  way  to  marriage.  He  wills  that  people 
should  follow  that  way ;  but  she  thinks,  also,  that  when 
He  sees  fit  to  withhold  the  affections,  and  block  up  the 
way,  it  is  in  order  that  the  heart  may  be  given  to  him  un 
divided."  "  But  persons,  generally,  do  not  think  in  that 
way,  aunt  Sarah,"  I  said.  "  No,  Sally,  and  therefore  the 
question  you  asked  was  difficult  to  answer.  It  is  no-use 
to  try  and  believe  that  folks  who  live  for  this  world  think 
as  much  of  single  people  as  of  married  ones,  because  in 
nine  cases  out  of  ten  they  don't,  any  more  than  they  think 
as  much  of  a  poor  man  as  of  a  rich  ;  and  if  single  women 
live  for  this  world,  they  must  be  judged  by  the  rules  of 
this  world."  "  Which  is  the  case  with  most  of  them,"  said 
Caroline.  '•  Yes,  poor  things,"  said  my  aunt,  "  they  can't 
see  what  they  are  meant  for,  and  so  they  are  always  pin- 
ing for  what  they  can't  get,  and  dressing,  and  talking,  and 
skipping  about,  as  if  they  were  eighteen ;  and  then  folks 
laugh  at  them,  and  no  wonder." 

'•  Well,  aunt  Sarah,"  observed  Joanna,  '•  you  have  not 
convinced  me  that  it  is  not  better  to  be  married."  ''  I 
never  wanted  to  convince  you,  child  ;  I  don't  want  to 
make  people  think  about  themselves  at  all,  but  just  take 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  161 

what's  ordered  for  them.  But  I  do  wish  to  make  all  you 
young  things  feel  that  to  be  an  old  maid  is  to  be  able  to- 
live  to  God,  and  work  for  your  fellow  creatures  in  an  es- 
pecial manner  ;  and  I  do  wish  to  make  you  think  it  so 
much  of  a  blessing,  that  you  would  never  put  out  your 
little  finger,  of  your  own  accord,  merely  to  escape  from 
it.  Not  that  you  will  think  so,"  she  added,  in  an  under 
tone,  "  unless  Sally  takes  to  profiting  from  her  old  aunt's 
experience." 

"  But  one  thing  more,  aunt  Sarah,"  I  asked ;  "  as  you 
say  that  unmarried  persons  can  give  themselves  especially 
to  doing  good,  would  it  be  right  to  make  up  one's  mind 
not  to  be  married  ?  "  "And  so  take  the  ordering  of  things 
into  your  own  hands,"  answered  my  aunt ;  "  that  can  never 
be  right,  Sally.  God  knows  whether  we  are  fitted  for  a 
single  life ;  and  if  it  does  not  do  us  good,  it  will  do  us 
harm."  "  But  we  must  make  the  choice,"  I  said.  "  Re- 
fusing an  offer  of  marriage  is  in  our  own  power."  "  But 
the  circumstances  which  make  us  refuse  it  are  not,"  re- 
plied my  aunt.  ''  If  you  don't  care  for  the  man,  or  if 
your  parents  object,  or  if  there's  any  other  very  good  rea- 
son for  saying  no,  why,  those  are  plain  marks  that  it's 
not  meant  you  should  marry  ;  but  if  a  man  comes  to  you, 
and  says  he's  fond  of  you,  and  he's  a  good  man,  and  your 
parents  like  the  notion,  and  you  like  him,  it  would  be  just 
setting  yourself  against  the  ordering  of  Providence  to 
declare  that  you  would  be  better  for  a  single  life.  How 
can  you,  or  I,  or  any  one,  tell  what  we  shall  be  the  better 
for  ?  God's  duties  are  the  best  for  us,  that  we  may  be 
quite  sure  of,  always." 

"  Women  are  better  off  than  men  in  that  respect,"  I 
said,  "  because  they  have  only  to  accept  or  refuse.  I 
should  be  in  such  a  dreadful  fidget,  if  I  were  a  man,  be- 
fore I  made  an  offer,  thinking  if  I  was  doing  right." 
Caroline  and  Joanna  laughed  heartily  at  this  speech  ;  but 
my  aunt,  though  a  smile  rested  upon  her  lips  for  a  mo- 
ment, answered  gravely  :  "  Yes,  Sally,  you  are  right,  it  is 
less  of  a  responsibility,  and,  in  a  certain  way,  it  makes 
the  way  plain  and  easy.  To  have  an  offer  made,  is,  at 
first  sight,  a  reason  for  accepting  it.  It  is  not  right  in  a 
woman  to  throw  away  a  man's  love,  and  make  him  unhap. 


162  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

py,  if  she  feels  she  can  return  it  as  he  wishes.  So,  childj 
if  ever  you  have  an  offer,  and  it's  a  good  and  right  one, 
and  such  as  you  like,  and  your  conscience  approves,  say, 
'  yes,'  and  be  happy  ;  but  if  there  are  things  against  it,  or 
if  you  can't  take  to  it  kindly,  say,  'no,'  and  be  thankful," 
Caroline  sat  in  silent  thought  whilst  my  aunt  was  speak- 
ing ;  her  manner  was  that  of  a  person  whose  opinions 
were  thoroughly  made  up.  Joanna,  I  thought,  paid  but 
little  attention.  She  was  looking  out  of  the  window  the- 
greater  part  of  the  time,  and  now  broke  in  upon  the  con- 
versation with  the  intelligence  that  aunt  Colston  and  Ho- 
ratia  were  walking  down  the  street,  and  would  be  at  the 
door  in  a  few  minutes ;  they  were  coming,  she  knew,  to 
wish  me  good-bye. 

"AVhat's  that  for?"  said  aunt  Sarah.  Joanna  ex- 
plained as  well  as  she  could ;  but  aunt  Sarah  was  per- 
plexed by  these  sudden  movements.  Joanna  watched 
them  as  they  came  nearer,  laughing  at  Horatia's  manly 
walk,  as  she  called  it,  and  counting  the  number  of  her 
flounces.  "  I  wonder  who  would  ever  marry  her,"  she 
said.  "  What  a  managing  wife  he  would  have  ! "  "  Ho- 
ratia  gives  out  that  she  never  intends  to  marry,"  said 
Caroline.  Joanna  moved  away  from  the  window.  "  They 
are  gone  into  Long's  shop,  I  declare.  Now,  Sarah,  there 
is  just  time  for  me  to  tell  you  something  about  Horatia's 
notions  of  marriage.  She  gave  them  out  to  us,  with  a 
story  about  herself,  the  day  before  yesterday,  when  we 

were  talking  of  Caroline  and "     "  Be  quick  with  your 

story,  Joanna,"  said  Caroline,  "or  they  will  be  here." 
"  Well !"  Joanna  drew  a  long  breath,  as  she  always  did 
before  beginning  a  long  story  ;  "  she  professed  to  divide 
.men  into  two  parts, — that  was  it,  wasn't  it,  Caroline  1 " 
•'Two  parts?  yes,"  replied  Caroline;  and  taking  up  the 
story,  she  continued  it,  being  apparently  afraid  to  let  Jo- 
anna have  the  opportunity  of  speaking  again.  "  It  is  only 
one  of  her  wild  notions,  which  she  puts  forth  to  make 
people  think  she  is  odd  and  clever.  Years  ago,  when  she 
was  quite  a  child,  she  was  talking  to  an  old  Frenchman, 
who  used  to  come  to  her  father's  home, — a  good  sort  of 
old  man,  whom  she  teased  a  great  deal ;  so  one  day  she 
said  to  him,  '  Now.  Monsieur,  wouldn't  you  like  to  marry 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE,  163 

me  ? '  And  the  old  man  shook  his  head  at  her,  and  said, 
'Ah !  Miss  Horatia,  if  any  one  were  to  come  to  me  with 
a  pistol  in  one  hand,  and  Miss  Horatia  Gray  in  the  oth- 
er— ^rather  than  be  shot ;' — and  he  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  left  her  to  draw  the  inference." 

"  Yes,  that  was  the  story,"  interrupted  Joanna  ;  "  only 
she  told  it  so  absurdly,  and  she  declares  she  gave  him  a 
kiss  directly,  because  it  was  such  a/  good  notion,  and  ever 
since  she  has  divided  men  into  two  parts, — those  whom 
you  would  rather  be  shot  than  marry,  and  those  whom 
you  would  rather  marry  than  be  shot, — and  she  protests 
there  is  no  other  choice." 

"  Then  the  woman  has  made  up  her  mind  to  accept  the 
first  man  that  asks  her,"  said  aunt  Sarah. 

A  thundering  knock  at  the  door !  Aunt  Colston's 
knocks  were  always  thundering.  "  Had  I  not  better  see 
them  up  stairs  ?  "  I  said  to  aunt  Sarah.  "  No,  child,  why 
should  you?  They  won't  be  here  again  soon."  My 
sisters  rose  to  go  ;  Joanna  whispered  to  me,  that  she 
wished  me  joy  of  the  visit.  I  felt  very  nervous,  for  I 
had  a  clear  recollection  of  the  silk  dress,  and  the  severe 
eye  that  had  rested  upon  me  in  Miss  Green's  shop. 

Aunt  Colston  came  into  the  room  with  her  most  dig 
nified  air.  Horatia  stood  behind  to  give  a  passing  tap  on 
the  shoulder  and  a  whisper  to  Joanna ;  and  then  followed 
with  the  rush  of  a  whirlwind.  "  We  scarcely  dared  to 
promise  ourselves  this  pleasure,  my  dear  Madam,"  said 
Mrs.  Colston,  taking  aunt  Sarah's  hand,  graciously.  "  It 
was  very  good  of  you  to  let  us  in,"  added  Horatia  ;  "  we 
were  very  much  afraid  you  would  be  lying  down."  "  The 
girls  tell  me  you  are  going  to  London,"  said  aunt  Sarah. 
"  I  wish  you  a  good  journey."  "  Thank  you,  my  dear 
Madam,  sincerely."  .A.unt  Colston  turned  slowly  to  me. 
"  Sarah,  we  are  come  to  bid  you  farewell."  Her  tone  was 
mournfully  severe,  and  I  laid  down  my  work  to  listen. 
"Business  of  an  important  kind  calls  me  to  London, — 
business  that  must  not  be  delayed, — and  about  which,  I 
have  at  length,  after  much  thought,  made  my  final  deter- 
mination. You  will  have  my  best  wishes,  Sarah,  and  I 
trust  when  we  meet  again  I  shall  find  you  restored  to 
health."     "  The  child  will  do  well  enough  if  she  is  kept 


164  TfiE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE. 

quiet,"  said  aunt  Sarah  ;  "  but  there  is  so  much  going  on 
in  a  large  family,  that  it's  hard  work  to  be  quiet."  "Cer« 
tainly,  as  you  remark,  my  dear  Madam  ;  there  is  a  groat 
deal  going  on  in  a  large  family,  such  a  family  as  my  poor 
sister's  especially.  It  is  difficult  to  say  where  the  fault 
lies."  "  In  the  number  of  young  folks  about.  I  should 
think,"  said  aunt  Sarah.  "  Yes,  as  you  justly  observe, 
the  number  of  young  people  must  be  one  cause ;  but  there 
is  something  more,  I  am  afraid  ; — a  want  of  order — that 
order  which  I  have  always  understood  Mrs.  Sarah  Mor- 
timer strongly  upholds."  "  And  not  the  want  of  order 
merely,"  exclaimed  Horatia ;  "  they  are  such  a  laughing, 
talking,  wild  set,  I  never  see  any  business  going  on  there." 
"  Folks  who  go  at  chance  moments,  seldom  do  much  of  the 
Tork  of  a  house,"  said  aunt  Sarah ;  "  for  the  most  part 
they  interrupt  it."  "  Well !  that  may  be,"  replied  Ho- 
ratia, carelessly ;  "  but  all  I  know  is,  that  East  Side  is 
the  most  idle  house  I  ever  was  in ;  and  a.s  for  the  last 
week  the  confusion  has  been  enough  to  turn  one's  head 
Still  it  was  a  great  pity,  Sarah,  that  you  were  not  there 
last  night ;  we  were  excessively  sorry."  "  Pardon  me, 
Horatia,  observed  ^unt  Colston  ;  "  I  cannot  entirely  agree 
in  that  sentiment.  I  trust  your  cousin  was  better  em- 
ployed, and  that  silence  and  reflection  have  been  good 
monitors."  "  Sally  had  a  very  bad  headache  all  day  yes- 
terday," said  aunt  Sarah  ;  "  so  it  was  not  the  very  best 
time  for  thinking."  "  Then  we  must  hope  for  the  future, 
though,  unfortunately,  young  people  do  not  consider  the 
errors  they  have  committed  until  they  are  brought  before 
them  by  their  consequences."  The  voice  and  manner 
were  so  stern  that  I  could  not  help  taking  some  notice, 
and,  resolving  to  be  bold,  I  said,  "  You  are  vexed  with 
me  about  that  silk  dress,  aunt  Colston,  but  it  really  was 
not  my  fault."  "Whose  was  ii,  then?  "  inquired  my  aunt. 
I  could  not  say,  "  My  mother's,"  and  felt  perplexed  how 
to  reply.  "  You  need  not  trouble  yourself  with  explana- 
tions," continued  my  aunt.  "  I  know  exactly  how  it 
occurred ;  a  mother's  fondness  for  a  weak  child  is  unfor- 
tunately nothing  new.  But  we  will  pass  it  over  ;  the  less 
said  upon  the  subject  the  better.  Good  afternoon  to  you, 
my  dear  Madam,"  and  she  stood  up  and  shook  hands  with 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  165 

aunt  Sarah.  "  Farewell,  Sarah."  An  icy  kiss  was  im- 
printed upon  my  forehead.  "  It  is  not  one  fault  of  which 
I  feel  that  I  have  cause  to  complain,  but  many."  "If 
Sally  has  done  wrong,  she  is  very  sorry  for  it,  I  am  sure," 
said  aunt  Sarah  ;  but  if  she  says  there  is  a  mistake, 'there 
must  be  a  mistake."  "  Excuse  me,  my  dear  Madam,  it  is 
a  diflficult  case ;  one  involving  principles  more  than  de- 
tails. I  have  no  time  now  to  enter  into  particulars.  You 
must  trust  me  when  I  say  that  your  favourite  niece  was, 
in  this  instance,  decidedly  in  fault."  Once  more  the  hand 
was  held  out  to  aunt  Sarah.  It  was  taken  and  retained, 
and,  looking  fixedly  in  her  face,  aunt  Sarah  said,  "  I  wish 
you  good-b'ye  and  a  pleasant  journey,  Mrs.  Colston  ;  and 
when  you  and  I  are  judged,  I  hope  it  may  be  by  one  who 
will  have  time  to  remember  mercy."  Aunt  Colston 
turned  pale  with  anger,  but  she  exercised  great  self-com- 
mand, and,  merely  answering,  "  I  trust  it  may  be  so,  my 
dear  Madam,"  she  left  the  room.  "  Good-bye,  dear  Mrs. 
Mortimer,"  said  Horatia,  in  her  loudest  tone  ;  "we  shall 
meet  again  soon,  I  dare  say.  Good-bye,  Sarah,  love," 
and  the  kiss  which  followed  almost  echoed  in  the  room ; 
"  keep  up  your  spirits  when  we  are  gone." 

"  And  now,  Sally,  what  is  it  all  about  ? "  was  aunt 
Sarah's  natural  question,  when  we  were  by  ourselves.  I 
told  her,  as  nearly  as  I  could  remember,  all  the  particu- 
lars of  my  misdemeanour,  but  they  were  so  trifling  that 
my  recollection  of  them  was  confused.  It  was  astonish- 
ing to  me,  indeed,  how  the  sudden  burst  of  indignation  on 
aunt  Colston's  part  could  have  arisen.  I  had  neglected 
no  wish  of  hers  ;  the  question  of  the  dress  had  never  been 
discussed  before  her  ;  and,  even  if  it  had  been,  surely  my 
mother  was  the  person  to  be  consulted.  I  should  have 
felt  excessively  angry,  but  that  I  was  quite  sure  she  was 
acting  under  a  misconception  of  the  truth.  Aunt  Sarah, 
however,  did  not  quite  agree  in  this  excuse,  when  I  ven- 
tured to  make  it.  It  was  every  one's  business,  she  said, 
to  be  fully  satisfied  as  to  facts  before  an  accusation  was 
brought  forward,  and  to  hear  all  that  could  be  said  in  de- 
fence before  venturing  to  condemn.  "  But  you  were 
wrong  in  one  thing,  Sally,"  she  added ;  "  you  ought  to 
have  spoken  out  to  your   mother.     It  is  false   charity 


166  THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE, 

which  makes  us  hide  what  our  betters  have  a  righl  to 
know.  Your  mother  would  have  helped  you  out  of  the 
mischief  then,  instead  of  into  it.  But  it's  the  silliest  bu- 
siness I  ever  heard  ;  and  if  you  had  had  a  grain  of  sense 
in  your  head,  you  would  have  been  up  to  the  woman." 
"  Up  to  whom,  aunt  Sarah  ?  "  I  asked. 

She  looked  at  me  a  little  wonderingly,  and  then  said, 
*'  Give  me  a  kiss,  child,  and  don't  be  afraid  of  Horatia 
Gray." 

I  saw  aunt  Colston  and  Horatia  once  more.  I  went 
out  for  a  little  while  late  in  the  afternoon,  with  Miss 
Cole,  and  we  observed  them  standing  at  the  entrance  to 
the  Bank,  talking  to  my  uncle  Ralph.  It  struck  me,  just 
for  a  moment,  that  my  uncle  seemed  to  be  consulted  in 
all  their  affairs,  for  they  were  continually  having  business 
to  settle  with  him ;  but  it  seemed  natural,  too.  Every 
one  in  Carsdale  had  more  or  less  business  with  uncle 
Ralph.  I  was  only  glad  that  I  had  none.  My  dread  of 
him  was  increasing  rather  than  lessening,  though  I  really 
saw  very  little  of  him.  But  ever  since  the  great  differ- 
ence of  opinion  upon  the  question  of  sending  Vaughan  to 
College,  there  had  been  a  marked  coolness  between  him 
and  my  mother.  With  my  father  his  influence  was  as 
great  or  even  greater  than  ever. 

The  mining  speculation,  I  knew,  had  been  entered 
into,  though  I  did  not  understand  to  what  extent.  Now 
and  then  I  heard  my  mother  ask  how  affairs  were  getting 
on  in  the  West,  and  my  uncle  was  always  full  of  hopes, 
which,  cheered  my  father  and  made  him  launch  into  some 
trifling  extravagance.  There  was  no  definite  advantage 
as  yet,  that  1  could  see  ;  but,  as  my  uncle  said,  "  Wo^ 
men  were  so  impatient,  they  had  not  the  least  head  for 
business." 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

I  DID  not  know  till  my  aunt  and  Horatia  were  actually 
gone,  what  an  oppression  their  presence  had  been.  My 
mother  was  especially  relieved ;  there  was  a  contiuuaJ 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE.  167 

struggle  in  her  mind,  when  aunt  Colston  was  present,  be- 
tween the  affection  of  a  sister,  and  the  wish  to  show  re- 
spect, and  the  irritation  caused  by  perpetual  interference. 
"  I  don't  think  it  can  be  a  good  thing  for  relations  to  live 
very  near  together,  my  dear,"  she  said,  when  I  remarked 
that  we  seemed  to  have  more  time  to  ourselves,  now  that 
there  was  no  reason  for  going  backwards  and  forwards  to 
Clifton  Cottage.  "  I  used  to  regret  very  much,  when  I 
was  first  married,  that  my  own  family  were  so  far  away, 
and  certainly  it  would  be  pleasant  to  have  them  some 
thirty  or  forty  miles  nearer,  but  I  should  never  wish  them 
now  to  be  close  in  the  neighbourhood.  Half  the  delight 
of  seeing  them  would  be  gone  if  we  could  meet  every  day, 
and  yet  we  could  not  be  entirely  one,  like  persons  living 
in  the  same  house,  and  so  little  difi"erences  would  be  apt 
to  arise.  If  ever  any  of  you  marry,"  and  she  paused  and 
looked  thoughtful  and  grave,  "  I  don't  wish  you  to  settle 
quite  near  me." 

It  was  her  gentle  way  of  expressing  what  I  am  sure  she 
felt  most  acutely,  and  subsequent  experience  has  only  con- 
firmed me  in  the  truth  of  her  opinion. 

There  may,  and  must,  be  many  exceptions ;  but,  as  a 
general  rule,  I  very  much  question  whether  different 
branches  of  the  same  family  are  either  the  happier  or  the 
better  for  constant,  daily  intercourse. 

The  question  of  marriage  was  one  which,  at  this  time, 
was  in  all  our  thoughts.  Three  days  after  aunt  Colston's 
departure,  Miss  Blair,  a  middle-aged  lady,  kind-hearted 
and  agreeable,  and  more  refined  than  her  brother,  took 
possession  of  Clifton  Cottage,  and  Mr.  Blair,  as  he  had 
promised,  came  from  London  continually,  and  spent  sev- 
eral days  with  her.  Caroline's  opinion  was  decided  as  to 
his  intentions, — so  decided  that,  at  first,  it  pained  me.  I 
knew  little  about  the  etiquette  of  such  matters,  but  it 
went  very  much  against  my  taste  to  hear  her  discussing, 
with  Joanna,  the  probabilities  of  the  proposal  which  both 
felt  sure  was  coming.  I  doubted,  also,  if  Caroline  could 
have  any  real,  deep  feeling,  when  she  was  able  to  talk  in 
su(Jh  an  open  way,  and  the  idea  of  marrying  without  such 
a  feeling  seemed  to  me,  not  merely  dangerous,  but  wrong. 

It  was  all  very  puzzling  to  me  ;  but  it  was  so  strange 


168  THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE. 

to  think  of  any  one  of  us  being  likely  to  be  married,  and 
I  was  so  sure  I  should  never  be  married  myself,  that  I 
was  quite  willing  to  allow  I  might  be  mistaken.  I  had 
read  a,  few  novels,  and  in  them  people  always  fell  in  love, 
and  were  very  unhappy  before  they  were  married  ;  but  in 
real  life  it  might  be  different,  and  persons  might  go  on 
smoothly  to  the  last  moment,  and  walk  gently  into  mar- 
riage without  having  to  scramble  through  hedges  of  dif- 
ficulty, with  the  chance  of  being  pricked  to  death  with 
the  thorns. 

So,  after  a  little  reflection,  I  made  up  my  mind  that 
my  ignorance  must  be  in  fault,  not  the  taste  or  delicacy 
of  my  elder  sisters:  and,  once  having  admitted  the  idea- 
that  Caroline  was  attached  to  Mr.  Blair,  I  looked  upon 
him  with  a  more  friendly  eye  and  did  my  best  to  like 
him. 

It  was  a  hard  task,  such  a  pompous,  uninteresting  per- 
son he  was  !  I  was  obliged,  again  and  again,  to  reckon 
up  all  the  virtues  I  had  been  able  to  discover  in  him, — a 
certain  amount  of  kindness  of  heart,  for  instance,  worldly 
honour  and  integrity,  an  outward  respect  for  religion, — 
before  I  could  bring  myself  to  endure  his  presence  with 
anything  like  patience.  Regarding  him  merely  as  an  ac- 
quaintance, I  hope  I  could  have  been  more  charitable ; 
but  when  I  thought  he  might  become  my  brother-in-law, 
his  least  offences  were  magnified.  What  my  dear  mother 
thought  all  this  time  I  did  not  well  understand.  She 
could  not  have  been  blind  to  what  was  going  on,  for  Mr. 
Blair's  attentions  were  becoming  the  common  talk  of  the 
neighbourhood  ;  but  she  never  made  the  least  allusion  to 
the  subject,  and  neither  did  my  sisters  before  her.  Prob- 
ably she  was  influenced  by  some  private  wish  expressed 
by  my  father  ;  as  he  unquestionably  was  influenced  by  my 
uncle  Kalph,  who,  from  the  very  beginning,  had  encourag- 
ed the  intimacy.  I  strongly  suspect  indeed,  that  my  un 
cle  was  the  first  person  who  put  it  into  Mr.  Blair's  head, 
or  rather  into  that  of  his  sister-in-law,  that  Caroline  might 
prove  a  desirable  wife  for  a  wealthy  merchant,  to  whom 
money  was  nothing,  but  who  wanted  a  good-looking,  lady- 
like, well-educated  person,  to  be  at  the  head  of  his  estab- 
lishment, and  make  his  house  agreeable  to  his  friends. 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE.  169 

My  mother  watched  Caroline  anxiously,  that  I  saw  ; 
but  she  never  interposed  to  prevent  any  meetings  or  at- 
tentions ;  and  the  only  indication  I  coutd  discover  of  her 
feelings  was,  when,  on  one  occasion,  she  spoke  strongly 
against  parents'  interfering  with  their  children's  happiness, 
when  their  affections  were  engaged.  "  She  should  never 
know  a  happy  moment,"  she  said,  "  if  she  allowed  any  per- 
sonal dislike  to  a  marriage  to  put  a  stop  to  it.  Her  chil- 
dren must  judge  for  themselves ;  she  would  give  them  her 
advice  if  they  wished  it,  but  she  believed  that  in  such 
cases  advice  was  useless." 

The  opinion  agreed  well  with  the  principles  upon  which 
my  mother  had  educated  us,  and  the  independence  of 
thought  and  action  which  she  had  allowed  us.  I  cannot 
bear  to  blame  her ;  yet  I  feel,  now,  that  a  little  more  re- 
straint in  childhood,  might  have  accustomed  us  to  a  great- 
er deference  to  her  opinion  as  we  grew  up,  and  in  the  end, 
have  prevented  many  serious  evils. 

It  must  have  been  a  great  effort  to  her,  however,  to 
remain  as  passive  as  she  did.  Mr.  Blair  was  the  last  per- 
son she  could  have  liked  as  a  son-in-law ;  their  tastes  and 
habits,  and  opinions,  were  perpetually  at  variance.  But 
when  she  once  saw  that  Caroline's  wishes  were  in  his  fa- 
vour, she  must  have  believed  there  was  nothing  left  her 
but  to  acquiesce. 

And  so  we  went  on,  day  after  day ;  always  expecting 
that,  before  night  came,  the  proposal  would  be  made  and 
the  affair  settled.  Joanna  grew  impatient,  for  the  expec- 
tation of  the  excitement  of  a  marriage  had  very  much 
neutralised  her  first  objections ;  but  Caroline  was  still 
satisfied.  "She  knew  Mr.  Blair  quite  well,"  she  said. 
"  He  was  a  man  who  never  did  anything  hastily.  He 
had  important  business  just  then  to  settle  ;  when  it  was 
concluded,  she  had  not  the  smallest  doubt  he  would  come 
forward."  I  believed  her,  for  I  knew  that  from  Mrs. 
Blair  she  had  opportunities  of  learning  more  than  we 
could,  and  the  belief  pained  me.  I  tried  to  think  the 
event  might  be  for  her  good,  and,  if  goodness  and  happi- 
ness were  to  be  found  in  wealth,  I  knew  she  had  a  fair 
prospect  before  her.  But  there  was  something  in  my  own 
heart  which  told  me  that  marriage  cannot  be  passive  in 
8 


170  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

its  effect  upon  the  mind, — that  if  it  does  not  raise,  it  must 
lower,  the  character ;  and  Caroline's  disposition,  there  was 
no  doubt,  had  a  tendency  downwards.  Mr.  Blair  was 
not  a  person  to  give  her  higher  views  of  life  and  its  du- 
ties. He  would,  so  I  feared,  sink  her  first  to  his  own 
level,  and  then  they  must  both  mutually  drag  each  other 
lower  and  lower. 

I  was  full  of  these  thoughts  when  I  went  to  spend  a 
few  days  at  Lowood.  I  had  been  asked  there  shortly  be- 
fore, at  the  time  of  some  Christmas  festivities  ;  but  ob- 
stacles had  been  interposed,  chiefly  by  aunt  Colston  and 
Horatia,  and  the  visit  had  been  deferred. 

My  mother  was  always  willing  to  spare  me,  and  under- 
took herself  to  superintend  the  children's  lessons  whilst  I 
was  away  ;  but  I  was  only  to  be  absent  for  a  few  days. 
On  former  occasions,  the  contrast  between  the  cares  of 
East  Side  and  the  repose  of  Lowood  had  never  pained 
me ;  but  now,  with  the  vision  of  Mr.  Blair  before  me,  a 
member  of  the  family,  I  was  less  inclined  to  think  hap- 
pily of  home  :  and,  I  confess.  I  felt  a  little  envious  of  the 
ease,  the  quiet,  cheerful  occupation,  the  care  for  others 
and  not  for  themselves,  which  were  remarkable  in  the 
daily  life  of  Mr.  Rivers  and  Lady  Emily.  There  were 
troubles  at  Lowood ;  farmers  were  discontented,  and  la 
bourers  did  wrong,  and  plans  for  the  improvement  of  the 
estate  failed,  and  Mr.  Graves,  the  rector,  was  constantly 
doing  something  he  had  better  not  have  done,  or  omitting 
to  do  something  which  he  ought  to  have  done.  The  work 
was  up  hill,  like  all  human  work,  but  the  home  was  peace 
and  rest.  I  thought,  then,  that  it  would  be  happy  for  us 
if  our  lives  could  be  the  same.  I  think,  now,  that  the 
education  which  Grod  givss,  is,  and  must  be,  the  best  for 
each  individual  character  ;  and  if  I  had  to  live  my  life 
over  again,  and  could  be  offered  my  choice  of  its  trials,  I 
would  ask  for  precisely  those  which  have  been  sent  me. 

Yet  I  was  wrong  in  saying  that  Lowood  was  entirely 
peaceful.  There  was  one  great  care  in  it  about  that  time, 
— one  I  had  foreseen  myself  for  some  time, — the  govern- 
ess did  not  suit.  Persons  who  have  to  scramble  through 
the  world,  and  pick  up  education  when  and  how  they  can, 
and  are   compelled  by  circumstances  to  bear  with  what 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  171 

they  do  not  like,  and  make  the  best  of  what  they  cannot 
afford  to  alter  may  think  this  a  trifling  grievance.  But  in 
a  small  and  wealthy  family,  where  every  thought  is  foi 
the  children,  and  the  grand  object  of  life  is  their  improve- 
ment, it  is  felt  to  be,  what,  indeed,  it  always  must  be,  a 
matter  of  essential  consequence.  Miss  Warner's  acidity 
was  becoming  unbearable.  I  was  astonished  at  myself, 
that  Lady  Emily  bore  with  it  as  long  as  she  did.  Miss 
Warner  was  a  good  woman,  I  really  believe,  but  she  was 
not  perfect  any  more  than  other  good  people,  and  her  pe- 
culiar characteristic, — a  keen  eye  to  other  persons'  imper- 
fections, which  did  not  at  all  imply  that  she  was  blind  to 
her  own, — showed  itself  in  a  mournful  and  impatient  la- 
mentation over  the  evils  of  life,  and  especially  the  sins  of 
the  clergy. 

No  doubt  there  was  in  those  days  a  great  deal  to  com- 
plain of ;  no  doubt  there  is  a  great  deal  still,  though  much 
less  than  there  used  to  be.  Lowood  was  not  by  any  means 
an  exception  to  the  rule  which  then  generally  prevailed  ; 
the  parish  was  very  much  neglected,  and,  in  spite  of 
Mr.  Rivers'  exertions,  the  dissenters  were  gaining  ground- 
Miss  Warner's  heart  was  better  than  her  head ;  she  ar- 
gued from  facts  before  her  eyes,  and,  because  the  dissent- 
ing teacher  was  a  more  zealous  man  than  the  parish  priest 
she  argued,  as  many  have  done  before,  and  are  likely  to  dc 
hereafter,  that  Dissent  must  be  right  and  the  Church  wrong. 

"  And  you  see  Sarah,"  said  Lady  Emily,  as  she  an- 
nounced to  me,  on  my  arrival,  the  fact  of  Miss  Warner's 
departure,  "  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  have  a  dis- 
senting governess  for  my  children ;  so  she  is  gone."  I 
was  selfishly  very  glad  to  hear  it ;  I  should  now  have 
Lady  Emily  to  myself  without  interruption.  "  I  can't 
express  the  effect  that  perpetual  mourning  over  the  state 
of  the  Church  has  upon  me,"  said  Lady  Emily.  "  Mr. 
Kivers  declares  that  if  Miss  Warner  had  stayed  much 
longer,  I  should  have  turned  dissenter  too."  '"  Not  with 
Mr.  Rivers  to  keep  you  firm,"  I  said.  "  Well,  that  would 
have  been  some  support,  I  must  own,"  said  Lady  Emily  ; 
•'for  I  actually  believe  that  if  every  other  person  in 
England  were  to  turn  dissenter,  Mr.  Rivers  would  remain 
unmoved."     Mr.  Rivers  was  writing  in  the  same  room; 


172  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

he  kid  down  his  pen  at  this  speech,  and  said,  with  a  smile 
peculiar  to  himself, — very  kind,  yet  a  very  little  satirical : 
"  Of  course  I  should  ;  why  is  truth  to  he  less  truth  because 
John  Simpkins  or  Thomas  Jones  chooses  to  say  it  is  not 
truth?"  "But  if  John  Simpkins  is  an  angel  of  good- 
ness," said  Lady  Emily,  "  his  opinion  of  what  is  truth  will 
have  considerable  weight."  "  Certainly  it  will,  because 
the  world  is  an  unreasoning  world ;  and  therefore,  my 
dear  Emily,  after  talking  with  good  John  Simpkins,  the 
Independent,  to-day,  I  shall  be  an  Independent ;  but  to- 
morrow, when  I  meet  with  Thomas  Jones,  the  Baptist, 
who  is  a  still  better  man,  I  shall  turn  Baptist ;  and  the 
next  day,  after  a  little  more  conversation  with  William 
Smith,  the  Quaker,  who  is  the  best  of  all,  I  shall  unques- 
tionably be  a  Quaker.  You  see  we  may  have  a  religion 
for  every  month  in  the  year,  if  we  like  it,  and  all  of  them 
equally  true." 

"  It  is  very  puxzling,"  said  Lady  Emily ;  "  Christianity 
itself  made  its  way  in  the  heathen  world  by  the  holy  lives 
of  its  first  teachers." 

"  No,  my  dear  Emily  ;  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  that  is 
a  great  mistake,  and  very  serious  in  its  consequences. 
Christianity  made  its  way  in  the  heathen  world  by  exter- 
nal witness,  by  miracles,  and  testimony," 

"And  by  holiness, — surely,  by  holiness  also,"  ex- 
claimed Lady  Emily. 

"  By  holiness  as  a  corroborative  testimony,  but  as  no- 
thing more." 

Lady  Emily  seemed  unwilling  to  assent,  and  I  felt 
with  her.  I  had  an  intense  veneration  for  the  early  saints, 
and  I  could  not  bear  to  hear  the  value  of  their  witness 
thus,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  depreciated. 

"  Do  you  not  see,"  continued  Mr.  Rivers,  "  that  the 
same  argument  which  holds  good  in  the  present  day,  must 
be  equally  good  for  every  age  ?  If  you  now  smile  at  the 
notion  of  turning  first  Independent,  then  Baptist,  and  then 
Quaker,  because  the  teachers  of  these  sects  happen  to  be 
good  men,  so  you  might,  if  a  heathen,  have  despised  the 
notion  of  giving  up  your  former  guides  for  Christian 
teachers.  You  might  have  said,  '  Socrates  and  Plato 
were  excellent  persons ;  why  am  I  not  to  be  contented 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  173 

with  their  instructions,  "but  to  follow  instead  the  apostlea 
of  Christ?'" 

"Because  Christianity  taught  so  many  things,  infi- 
nitely important,  which  Socrates  and  Plato  knew  nothing 
of,"  observed  Lady  Emily, 

"  But  this  only  goes  to  prove  what  I  assert,  that  ex- 
ternal, not  internal,  tefetimony  is  the  witness  to  truth. 
The  teaching  of  the  Apostles  was  infinitely  important,  for 
it  concerned  truths  only  to  be  learnt  by  direct  communi- 
cation with  heaven.  If  they  were  not  so  learnt,  the  Apos- 
tles were  bad  men,  professing  a  falsity.  Let  them  have 
appeared  ever  so  just,  pure,  devoted,  self-denying,  they 
were  impostors.  Now,  what  was  the  proof  of  their  inspi- 
ration?" 

"  The  power  of  working  miracles,"  replied  Lady 
Emily. 

"  Yes,  unquestionably  ;  the  miracles — the  external 
sign.  The  question  of  goodness  was  something  distinct 
and  additional;  if  it  were  not  so,  the  same  doctrines 
would  have  been  truth  when  preached  by  St.  Paul,  and 
untruth  when  preached  by  Demas, — because  the  one  was 
a  good,  and  the  other  a  bad  man." 

"  The  great  difficulty  in  all  this,"  said  Lady  Emily, 
"  is,  that  we  have  no  miracles  now." 

"  Grant  the  principle,"  replfed  Mr.  Rivers;  "that  is  all 
I  require.  As  to  its  application,  I  allow  it  is  more  diffi- 
cult at  the  present  day  than  it  was  then.  It  requires 
thought  and  stu*dy — more  than  most  people  are  willing  to 
give  to  such  subjects — to  see  that  historical  testimony, 
and  the  corroborative  witness  of  the  Bible,  stand  to  us 
now  in  the  place  of  the  miracles  of  the  Early  Church, 
But  if  we  will  acknowledge  that  we  do  require  some  such 
support,  we  are  safe  :  if  not,  woe  to  the  English  Church  ; 
for  when  temptation  comes,  her  children  will  fall  away. 
They  will  be — in  fact,  they  are  fast  becoming — Baptists, 
Quakers,  Socinians,  Infidels, — any  thing  and  every  thing, 
according  as  the  fancy  seizes  them." 

"  One  thing  more,  only  one,  let  me  say,"  urged  Lady 
Emily.  "  You  know  I  am  not  arguing  for  victory,  like 
Miss  Warner.  If  the  children  of  the  Church  do  fall 
away,  it  is  the  fault  of  the  Church." 


174  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

"  TherTwhen  you  and  I  neglect  our  duty,  Emily,  our 
children  may  disobey  us." 

Lady  Emily  smiled.  "  I  see  you  will  allow  us  poor 
discontented  people  no  excuse." 

"  No,  but  I  will  give  you  what  is  better  than  excuse- 
hope.  If  there  is  truth  in  the  English  Church,  she  must 
rise  again  ;  and  as  the  Church  rises,  Dissent  will  fall." 

"And  with  that  hope  you  leave  us,"  said  Lady  Emily, 
as  Mr.  Rivers  took  up  his  papers  and  walked  away;  "and 
with  that  hope,  Sarah,  you  and  I  will  leave  the  subject ; 
it  always  vexes  me.  And  now  tell  me,  dear  child,  how 
you  are  going  on  at  home,  and  how  is  aunt  Sarah  1 " 

The  first  question  brought  a  long  answer  in  reply. 
Lady  Emily  I  felt  could  understand  my  annoyance,  as  re- 
garded Horatia,  and  I  talked  openly  to  her  about  it.  I 
saw  that,  like  aunt  Sarah,  she  was  inclined  to  take  up  my 
cause  more  decidedly  than  I  did  myself.  I  thought  Ho- 
ratia troublesome  ;  she  thought  her  manoeuvering. 

Mr.  Blair's  was  not  such  an  easy  topic.  I  had  no  right 
to  betray  my  sister's  feelings,  though  I  longed  to  have  the 
sympathy  which  Lady  Emily  was  always  so  ready  to  give. 
Something  was  said,  however,  about  his  having  taken  aunt 
Colston's  house,  and  then  a  smile  passed  over  Lady  Emi- 
ly's face,  and  I  suspect  over  mine  too,  and  the  secret  was 
betrayed. 

Miss  Cleveland  had  told  her  the  marriage  was  a  set- 
tled thing.  "  I  thought  of  you,  Sarah,  directly  I  heard  of 
it,"  said  Lady  Emily,  "  and  whether  you  would  like  it." 
"  You  would  know  that  without  asking  me,"  I  replied,  "  if 
you  had  ever  seen  Mr.  Blair ;  but  it  is  not  settled,  and 
that  is  the  reason  I  cannot  endure  talking  about  it. 
People  do  not  generally  talk  about  the  offers  they  expect 
before  they  are  made — do  they  ?  "  "  Only  a  little,  just  to 
their  very  intimate  friends,"  said  Lady  Emily,  looking 
amused  at  the  question ;  "  and  I  suppose,  if  there  is  any 
real  love  in  the  case,  they  never  talk  about  them  at  all." 
"  I  must  have  looked  grave  at  this  speech,  for  she  re- 
marked it  and  added, — "  There  may  be  great  respect,  great 
esteem  though ;  I  dare  say  your  sister  feels  a  great  deal 
more  than  she  expresses."  "I  don't  know,"  I  said,  "per- 
haps I  shall  understand  it  all  better  by  and  by,  as  I  grow 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  175 

older.  Only  I  had  a  kind  of  notion," — I  hesitated. 
"  What  notion,  dear  child  ?"  and  Lady  Emily  drew  me  to- 
wards her,  and  gave  me  a  kiss.  "  I  like  to  hear  all  the 
notions  that  come  into  your  little  head."  "  I  always 
fancied,"  I  said,  "  that  people  ought  to  love  each  other 
very  much  indeed,  more  than  any  other  persons  in  the 
world,  before  they  married,  and  that  they  only  married 
because  they  loved  each  other.  But  Caroline's  notion 
seems  to  be  that  the  marriage  is  the  great  thing,  and  not 
the  love.  I  dare  say  I  don't  explain  myself  properly." 
"  Yes,  you  do,  quite.  Yours  is  the  young  notion,  Caro- 
line's is — not  the  old  one  exactly,  but  the  worldly  one." 
"  Then  which  is  right  ?  "  I  asked  eagerly,  "  Yours  without 
doubt,  I  only  trust  you  will  never  lose  it."  "  Th^re  is  no 
fear  of  that,"  I  said,  "  I  never  could  marry  any  one  whom 
I  did  not  love  more — more  than  I  love  any  one,  now,  ex- 
cept mamma  and  aunt  Sarah."  So  you  think,  Sarah  ;  and 
so  almost  all  girls  of  your  age  think  ;  but  they  grow  older, 
and  no  persons,  perhaps,  come  in  their  way  whom  they 
like,  or  if  they  do  like  then^  they  are  not  able  to  marry  ; 
and  then  they  become  impatient,  and  fancy  they  shall  be 
old  maids,  and  that  frightens  them,  and  they  begin  to 
think  that  they  were  too.  particular."  "  I  am  not  afraid 
of  being  an  old  maid,"  I  said  ; — "  every  one  tells  me  I  am 
sure  of  being  one."  "  I  do  not  say  I  wish  you  may  not 
be  one,"  replied  Lady  Emily  ;  "  though  I  know  myself  the 
blessing  of  being  a  most  happy  wife  and  mother.  But  if 
I  were  talking  to  my  own  child,  I  should  entreat  her  never 
to  allow  herself  to  dwell  upon  marriage  as  the  object  of 
life.  Dignity  and  delicacy  sink,  I  cannot  say  how  sadly 
or  how  rapidly,  when  once  that  idea  takes  possession  of 
the  mind ;  and  for  happiness — there  is  not  a  more  miser- 
able being  in  existence  than  a  woman  past  the  first  excite- 
ment of  youth,  aiming  at  being  married  for  the  sake  of 
being  married ; — so  unsatisfied,  so  envious,  so  neglectful 
of  present  duties,  so  lowered  in  tone  and  principle, — oh ! 
Sarah,  I  would  rather, — yes,  indeed,  I  say  it  most  calmly, 
— I  would  far  rather  see  you  in  your  grave,  than  know 
that  you  could  live  to  become  what  I  have  seen  others, 
solely  from  the  indulgence  of  this  one  false,  degrading 
principle." 


176  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

"  Then  you  will  not  look  down  upon  me  when  I  am 
an  old  maid,"  I  said  ;  and  at  the  moment  the  hope  crossed 
my  mind  that  I  should  be  told  1  was  sure  of  not  being 
one. 

No  such  consolation,  however,  was  given  me.  Lady 
Emily  only  laughed,  and  said,  "  Quite  the  reverse — I  shall 
honour  you.  You  will  be  able  to  be,  what  I  always  in- 
tended to  be  myself, — only,  unfortunately,  I  met  with 
Mr.  Rivers, — a  pattern  old  maid." 

"  And  if  I  meet  with  a  Mr.  Rivers  too  ?  " 

"  Then  marry  him  by  all  means." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


It  is  interesting,  whilst  looking  back  upon  one's  past  life, 
to  trace,  as  one  often  can,  the  words  and  seemingly  tri- 
fling incidents  which  have  left  lasting  effects  upon  the 
character.  It  makes  the  e^tence  of  every  day  much 
more  important ;  for  who  can  avoid  reflecting  upon  the 
amount  of  good  or  evil  for  oneself  or  others,  which  may 
be  involved  in  petty  occurrences  and  passing  observa- 
tions, when  experience  has  warned  us  of  their  conse- 
quences ? 

Perhaps  there  is  no  age  at  which  this  formation  of 
the  mind  from  common  circumstances  goes  on  so  rapidly 
as  in  the  transition  state  between  childhood  and  woman- 
hood,— seventeen,  eighteen,  nineteen.  A  careful  observer, 
it  may  be,  would  in  very  many  cases  be  able  to  prophesy 
the  bent  of  the  whole  life  from  the  direction  which  it  then 
takes.  The  impressions  of  childhood  are  deep  and  last- 
ing, but  they  are  external  to  us ;  and  education,  in  its 
true  sense,  can  never  be  external :  for,  in  fact,  we  edu- 
cate ourselves.  The  ideas  which  we  collect,  ponder  upon, 
remodel,  and  engraft  in  our  own  minds  as  our  own  pro- 
perty, are  those  which  influence,  and  therefore  educate 
us.  And  these  are  not  the  ideas  brought  before  us  di- 
rectly by  books  or  teaching,  but  imbibed,  like  the  air  we 
breathe,  for  the  most  part  insensibly,  as  we  learn  to  exer- 
cise our  own  powers  of  thought  and  observation.  And 
we  may  remark  that,  in  most  cases,  the  tendency  of  the 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  177 

young  is  to  rise  to  the  level  of  the  highest  and  purest 
minds  with  which  they  are  brought  in  contact.  Even  in 
the  untaught  heathen  there  is  the  wreck  of  a  perfect  na- 
ture, the  appreciation  of  moral  goodness  ;  how  much  more 
then  in  the  baptized,  enlightened  Christian !  And  so  it 
happens  that  occasional  intercourse  with  persons  tho- 
roughly pure-minded  and  devoted,  at  the  age  when  the 
character  is  forming,  will  often  elevate  the  whole  moral 
tone,  and  in  the  end  counteract  the  evil  of  weeks,  months, 
and  even  years  of  more  apparently  direct  influence.  Ex- 
cept as  regarded  my  mother,  I  could  not  say  that  the 
principles  of  my  family  were  high  or  unworldly ;  and  ha- 
bitual reserve  in  her  case  counteracted  much  of  the 
good  which  I  might  have  derived  from  being  with  her.  I 
do  not  see  how  I  could  have  escaped  imbibing  the  same 
ideas  as  my  elder  brothers  and  sisters,  if  it  had  not  been 
for  aunt  Sarah  and  Lady  Emily.  But  I  never  returned 
from  a  visit  to  Carsdale  or  to  Lowood,  without  feeling  that 
I  had  risen,  not  in  my  own  estimation,  or  the  opinion  of 
the  world,  but  in  the  aim  and  object  of  life.  It  was  not 
that  I  had  received  formal  instruction,  or  rules,  or  advice. 
If  such  were  brought  before  me  it  was  accidentally,  either 
from  sympathy,  or  because  the  course  of  conversation 
naturally  gave  rise  to  them.  There  was  no  attempt  at 
direct  control  or  reproof,  and  thus  the  suggestions  which, 
made  criticisingly  and  reprovingly  by  aunt  Colston,  would 
have  fallen,  I  fear,  upon  an  unwilling  ear.  glided,  as  it 
were,  into  my  mind,  took  root  unnoticed,  grew  up  so  in- 
sensibly, that  I  fancied  them  my  own,  and  at  last  became 
the  fixed  laws  and  motives  of  my  life. 

I  was  very  glad  to  have  had  those  conversations  with 
Lady  Emily  and  aunt  Sarah  about  marriage.  They  gave 
form  to  my  own  floating  ideas ;  for  I  had  thought  upon 
the  subject, — all  girls  do  and  will  think  about  it  more  or 
less, — and  I  had  felt  that  there  was  something  repugnant 
both  to  my  principles  and  taste  in  the  way  in  which  it 
was  commonly  talked  of,  as  the  one  thing  without  which 
a  woman  must  be  lonely  and  wretched,  and  almost  des 
pised.  Yet  all  I  had  ever  heard,  or  read,  or  seen  hith- 
erto, was  against  me  ;  my  dear  mother's  silence,  and 
known  indifference  upon  the  matter,  alone  excepted. 

Miss  Cleveland,  bright  and  active  though  she  always 


178  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

* 

was  herself,  made  a  point  of  warning  my  sisters  not  to 
wait  too  long  before  they  were  married.  Mrs.  Blair 
could  discover  the  very  earliest  prospect  of  an  engage- 
ment. Aunt  Colston  discoursed  upon  the  desirableness 
of  having  daughters  well  settled ;  even  uncle  Ralph,  when 
he  ventured  upon  a  joke,  used  to  tell  Joanna  not  to  say 
"  no  "  too  often.  And  in  novels — if  the  few  I  had  read 
were  to  be  taken  as  any  true  description  of  life — there 
was  nothing  else  worth  a  moment's  thought.  If  women 
were  not  married,  they  were  either  soured  by  the  disap- 
pointment, and  lived  to  be  the  torment  of  their  friends  ; 
or,  after  concentrating  into  a  few  years  the  sorrows  of  a 
long  life,  they  invariably  died  of  consumption. 

And  was  this  then  the  true  statement  of  the  case  ?  If 
the  opportunity  of  marrying  from  affection  should  be  de- 
nied me,  must  my  existence  be  indeed  so  lonely,  so  bur- 
densome ?  Were  the  years  that  must  elapse  between 
youth  and  age  to  be  spent  in  undignified  striving  after 
an  unattainable  good ;  or  in  discontented  repinings  at  the 
lot  which  it  had  been  the  will  of  God  to  appoint  for  me  ? 
and  was  there  no  mode  of  escape  from  such  wretchedness 
but  that  of  sacrificing  taste  and  feeling,  by  consenting  to 
be  the  wife  of  the  first  man  of  ordinary  respectability, 
who  would  give  me  the  honour  of  his  name,  and  a  share 
of  his  fortune  ? 

Then  indeed  was  this  world  all  in  all ; — marriage  its 
hope,  marriage  its  joy,  marriage  its  intention,  and  its 
end. 

And  "  in  heaven  there  shall  be  neither  marrying  nor 
giving  in  marriage." 

The  last  morning  of  that  visit  at  Lowood  I  spent  in 
talking  to  Lady  Emily  about  her  school,  for  a  school  she 
Was  going  to  establish,  as  I  knew  from  the  beginning  she 
would,  according  to  aunt  Sarah's  notion.  The  plans  were 
very  unformed,  for  a  work  which  was  to  last,  it  was  hoped, 
for  years,  required  months  of  thought  and  preparation. 
It  was  to  begin  on  a  small  scale,  as  small  as  aunt  Sarah 
had  proposed.  Mr.  Rivers  would  hear  of  nothing  which 
was  not  perfectly  safe,  and  within  compass.  The  first  ex- 
penses must,  he  said,  be  great.  However  large  might  be 
the  estimate,  in  such  cases,  it  was  invariably  exceeded 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE.  179 

Six  girls  could  be  clothed,  boarded,  and  educated,  he 
knew,  for  the  sum  proposed  ;  but  ^ore  might  bring 
debt,  and  with  debt  there  would  be  some  sacrifice  of 
principle  to  expediency.  Lady  Emily  was  very  good 
and  patient  under  these  restrictions,  and  satisfied  her- 
self with  the  hope  that  as  years. went  on  the  number 
might  be  increased :  as  it  would  be  the  object  to  which 
all  her  savings  would  be  directed.  Yet  I  could  see  that 
it  was  with  difficulty  she  could  persuade  herself  to  direct 
all  her  energies  to  the  six,  instead  of  planning  fcr  twenty. 
Mr.  Rivers  was  obliged  again  and  again  to  remind  her, 
that  unless  the  foundations  were  well  laid  the  superstruc- 
ture must  fall  to  the  ground.  And,  what  was  still  more 
trying  to  her,  I  found  that  the  advantages  of  the  school 
were  not  to  be  exclusive  to  the  Fisherton  district.  This 
had  been  her  favourite  plan,  but  it  was  impracticable. 
Mr.  Rivers  asserted  it  was  undesirable.  If  the  selection 
was  really  to  have  any  effect  upon  a  large  number  it  must 
be  made,  not  from  the  children  of  a  certain  district,  but 
of  a  certain  preparatory  school ;  and  this  school  could  be 
no  other  than  that  which  had  lately  been  established  in 
Carsdale.  Besides,  to  make  so  great  a  distinction  be- 
tween'two  parts  of  the  same  townj  would  lead  in  the  end, 
he  feared,  to  trickery  and  discontent.  The  rule  would 
be  found  unwise,  and  in  the  end  even  those  who  were 
called  upon  to  carry  it  out  would  be  compelled  to  devise 
means  for  evading  it.  "  Take  the  materials  which  lie  be- 
fore you,  if  possible,  my  dear  Emily,  in  all  cases,"  said 
Mr.  Rivers.  "  Time  and  thought  have  already  been  ex- 
pended upon  them,  and  it  would  be  wrong  to  cast  them 
aside  ;  and,  especially,  do  not  be  exclusive  in  your  chari- 
ties, whenever,  without  a  sacrifice  of  principle,  you  can  be 
the  contrary.  Help  the  Carsdale  school,  and  all  the  peo- 
ple of  Carsdale  will  be  willing  to  work  with  you,  and  an 
impetus  for  good  will  be  given  to  the  whole  town.  Set 
up  a  private  school  of  your  own  for  the  Fisherton  district, 
and  people  will  say — "  it  is  Lady  Emily  Rivers's  school, 
and  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  it ;  "  and  they  will  fold 
their  hands  and  sit  idle  all  the  more,  because  they  are  not 
as  rich,  and  cannot  do  the  same."  "  But  that  unhappy 
Carsdale  school,"  said  Lady  Emily,  "  it  is  so  indifferently 


l&)  THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE. 

managed." — "  Merely  because  no  one  takes  an  interest  in 
it,"  said  Mr.  River§.  •'  The  moment  you  go  with  a  boon 
to  offer  them,  you  will  see  that  the  whole  thing  will  be 
changed.  You  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  make  your 
conditions,  state  what  are  the  qualifications  you  require 
for  those  who  are  to  be  your  own  children,  and  then  see 
what  the  effect  will  be.  I  venture  to  say  that  you  may 
in  the  end  entirely  remodel  the  national  school  if  you 
wish  it."  ''  Yes,  if  I  wish  it,"  said  Lady  Emily ;  "  but 
that  kind  of  power  is  the  last  I  desire  to  exercise." 

"  And  so  most  probably  it  will  be  just  that  which  will 
be  put  into  your  hands,"  replied  Mr.  Elvers ;  "  however, 
since  you  object  to  power,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  conceive 
to  be  absolutely  essential  to  the  well-being  of  your  own 
school, — that  your  responsibility  should  after  a  certain 
time  be  shared." 

"  With  you,  always,  of  course,"  said  Lady  Emily ;  "  but 
not  with  any  one  else." 

"  Yes  ;  with  three,  or  even  four,  or  five  others.  I  do 
not  say  who  at  this  moment,  except  that  one  must  be,  ez 
officio,  the  rector  of  Carsdale," 

"  Poor  old  Mr.  Benson,"  said  Lady  Emily,  "  1  think  he 
is  a  safe  person." 

"  His  safety  has  nothing  to  do  with  the.  question,"  said 
Mr.  Rivers.  "  If  he  were  the  Pope,  he  must  be  one  of  the 
trustees." 

"  And  convert  my  children  into  Roman  Catholics," 
said  Lady  Emily ;  "  no,  excuse  me,  that  could  never  be." 

"  Not  convert  them  into  anything,  I  hope,"  replied 
Mr.  Rivers.  "  Make  your  laws,  not  only  for  the  goyerned 
but  the  governor.  His  duty,  th^n,  will  be  not  to  create 
laws,  but  to  uphold  them.  Remember  that  James  II. 
might  never  have  been  forced  to  abdicate  if  he  had  only 
kept  to  his  engagements.  However,  that  is  talking  non- 
sense, a  rector  of  Carsdale  must  be  now  an  English 
Churchman ;  all  I  mean  is,  that  if  you  wish  your  school 
to  last,  you  must  lay  down  certain  general  principles, 
never  to  be  violated,  and  then  engage  yourself,  with 
others,  to  maintain  those  principles.  You  must  be  a  con- 
stitutional, not  a  despotic  monarch  ;  and  you  must  provide 
that  after  your  death  your  constitution  shall  be  respected, 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  181 

by  enacting  it  as  one  of  your  fundamental  laws  that  per 
sons  shall  always  be  appointed  to  see  that  it  is  respected. 
Your  school  may  enlarge  by  that  means  safely.  Othei 
persons,  in  after  years,  may  give  to  it  without  being  able 
to  touch  the  principles  upon  which  it  is  founded,  and  so  it 
may  expand  to  be  what  you  long  to  make  it  now,  but  are 
not  able." 

« Well,"  said  Lady  Emily,  "  all  I  entreat  is,  that  I 
may  not  be  obliged  to  go  shares  with  Mr,  Benson  just  yet 
in  anything." 

"  No ;  keep  your  power  in  your  own  hands  for  the 
present :  make  very  few  rules,  and  don't  convert  them  into 
laws  till  you  have  tried  them  ;  but  when  you  have .  tried 
them  remember  that  you  must  die,  but  that  your  work,  we 
hope,  is  to  live." 

"  He  is  so  dreadfully  prudent  and  thoughtful,"  said 
Lady  Emily,  turning  to  me.  "  You  and  I,  Sarah,  should 
have  collected  our  children,  and  appointed  our  mistress, 
and  fixed  upon  the  dress,  and  begun  our  work  by  this 
time." 

"  And  be  obliged  to  begin  it  all  over  again  this  day 
twelvemonth,"  said  Mr.  Rivers,  laughing.  '•  Confess,  now, 
Emily,  that  I  have  saved  you  from  more  than  one  diffi- 
culty in  your  life,  by  being  what  you  call  dreadfully  pru- 
dent." 

"  Saved  me  from  many — from  every  difficulty,"  said 
Lady  Emily,  earnestly  ;  and  as  he  bent  down  to  kiss 
her  forehead  tears  started  to  her  eyes ;  and  with  a  forced 
laugh  she  said:  "  Now,  go  away  and  leave  us.  Sarah  and 
I  want  to  settle  whether  my  girls  are  to  wear  blue  frocks 
or  brown." 

That  was  rather  an  important  discussion  for  me,  for  it 
involved  my  executing  a  little  commission  in  Carsdale  the 
next  day,  and  led  to  an  entreaty  that  I  might  do  any 
thing  else  that  could  be  useful,  and  a  hesitating  request 
from  Lady  Emily  that  I  would  copy  some  papers  for  her 
and  help  her  in  some  needlework ;  and,  if  my  mother  did 
not  object,  now  and  then  go  and  see  some  old  women  who 
lived  at  Hurst,  the  village  to  which  East  Side  and  the 
hamlet  adjoining  it  belonged,  and  who  were  tenants  of 
Mr.  Rivers ;    and  in  this    way,  before  I  left  Lowood,  I 


182  THE   EXPERIENCE    OP   LITE. 

found  that  a  nevi  set  of  small  interests  had  sprung  up ; 
and  as  I  drove  home,  instead  of  thinking  of  Mr.  Blair 
and  Cai:oline,  and  domestic  anxieties,  I  pleased  myself 
with  dwelling  upon  the  new  school,  and  the  delight  I 
should  have  in  helping  Lady  Emily  with  her  poor  people. 
It  was  well  that  I  had  given  my  mind  that  rest.  When 
I  entered  the  house  I  found  my  mother  grave  and  tearful, 
my  father  excited — Joanna  in  a  flutter  of  unseasonable 
wonder  and  high  spirits — Caroline  a  little  more  stately,  a 
little  more  silent.  Mr.  Blair  had  proposed  and  been  ac 
cepted.  I  had  lost  my  sister,  that  was  my  first  thought — 
not  whether  Mr.  Blair  loved  her,  not  whether  she  would 
be  happy.  It  was  the  first  break  in  the  family,  and  how 
we  should  miss  her  !  And  I  went  to  my  room  and  cried 
bitterly. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

Eighteen  and  eight-and-twenty  !  I  doubt  if  any  other 
ten  years  of  life  can  make  as  great  a  difi"erence  in  our 
way  of  looking  at  the  events  of  this  weary  world. 
Eighteen — thoughtless,  eager,  trusting,  expecting.  Eight- 
and-twenty — anxious,  regretful,  fearing  and  doubting.  It 
is  not  a  happy  age,  eight-and-twenty  !  It  is  too  old,  and 
too  young.  Youth  is  not  passed,  but  it  is  passing,  and 
that  rapidly ;  and  we  have  not  yet  made  up  our  minds  tf 
part  with  it ;  and  age  is  not  come,  and  the  way  that  leads 
to  its  looked-for  rest  is  long,  and  dark,  and  toilsome.  And 
how  the  cares  of  a  family  seem  to  multiply  in  those  ten 
years  !  What  a  definite  form  the  shadows  of  misfortune 
have  assumed  !  How  well,  in  looking  upon  them,  we  can 
trace  the  errors  of  the  past  both  in  ourselves  and  others, 
and  how  clearly  prophesy  the  burden  which  must  be 
borne,  it  may  be,  through  life,  as  their  consequence. 

They  are  very  important  years.  Let  them  be  well 
spent  in  acquiring  self-knowledge,  self-mastery,  self-disci- 
pline, and  the  hardest  struggle  of  life  is  over.  We  are 
as  soldiers  armed  for  the  battle,  and  when  the  guides  of 
oar  youth  are  taken  from  us,  and  we  are  left  to  stand 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  183 

alone  and  act  for  ourselves,  amidst  the  great  vortex  of  hu- 
man aflfairs,  we  shall  find  energy  from  the  very  greatness 
of  our  difficulties,  and  be  supported  by  the  consciousness 
of  possessing  the  only  true  power — not  our  own,  but  His 
upon  whom  we  lean. 

I  have  been  told  that  I  was  never  young — that  I  was 
always  thoughtful  beyond  my  age,  my  character  early 
formed,  my  opinions  for  the  most  part  fixed  before  I  was 
twenty.  I  do  not  know  how  this  may  be,  but  I  am  cer- 
tain that  the  brightness  of  the  summer  day,  and  the  long 
twilight  of  the  dusky  winter,  are  not  more  unlike  than 
were  my  views  and  hopes  at  eighteen,  and  at  eight-and- 
twenty. 

True,  I  early  saw  that  life  was  not  unclouded,  and 
that  home  had  many  cares,  but  the  power  of  vivid  enjoy- 
ment was  then  so  great  that,  except  at  the  moment  when 
anxieties  were  pressed  by  circumstances  upon  my  atten- 
tion, they  were  for  the  most  part  forgotten.  What  I  could 
not  remedy  I  had  no  call  to  think  upon,  and  I  trusted, — 
that  is  the  boon,  the  fairy  gift  of  youth,  the  secret  of  its 
exquisite  happiness, — I  trusted  in  the  judgment  of  oth- 
ers, for  I  had  not  yet  learnt  to  fear  that  my  own  might 
be  of  equal  value. 

Yet  ten  years  may,  in  the  eye  of  the  world,  make  but 
little  difference  in  the  outward  condition  of  a  family. 
Ten  years  passed  over  us  at  East  Side,  and  none  marked 
the  changes  that  were  working  amongst  us,  save  in  the 
wrinkles  on  my  father's  cheek,  and  the  silvery  threads 
which  glistened  in  my  mother's  dark  brown  hair.  Or  if 
their  children  were  spoken  of,  it  was  to  contrast  the  bright 
loveliness  of  my  sweet  Hester,  with  the  still  more  per- 
fect beauty  which  Joanna  still  retained,  or  to .  remark 
upon  me  that  it  was  wonderful  how  little  alteration 
time  made  in  persons  of  my  complexion  and  sickly  ap- 
pearance. 

My  eight-and-twentieth  birthday  found  me  with  Hes- 
ter in  London,  guests  of  our  sister  Caroline.  Outward- 
ly, ten  years  had  made  a  greater  alteration  in  Caroline 
than  in  any  of  us.  "  Mrs.  Blair  looks  quite  as  old  as 
her  mother,"  was  the  common  remark  when  Caroline 
came  to  Carsdale.     But  it  was  not  so  much  in  feature' as 


184  THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  ^ 

in  manner  that  the  alteration  was  perceptible ; — in  thai 
matronly,  business-like  air  which  it  is  often  most  amusing 
to  observe  even  very  young,  lively  people  assume  as  soon 
as  they  have  a  house  of  their  own.  My  mother,  after  five- 
and-thirty  years  of  married  life,  was  not  by  any  means  as 
entirely  the  mistress  of  her  family  and  the  woman  of  im- 
portance as  Caroline. 

A  husband  and  five  children,  and  a  good  house  inHarley- 
street,  and  servants,  and  a  carriage,  and  an  increasing 
circle  of  acquaintance — Caroline  certainly  had  a  great 
deal  to  do  and  to  think  of.  And  she  neglected  nothing — 
nothing,  that  is,  which  the  world  required.  She  had  ac- 
complished the  objects  for  which  her  husband  had  been 
urged  to  marry  her ;  she  had  raised  him  in  society,  she 
had  made  his  parties  agreeable,  set  herself  against  awk- 
ward acquaintances,  toned  down  his  manners,  and  gained 
him  respect  by  a  prudent  liberality  in  charitable  subscrip- 
tions. "  An  excellent  wife,"  as  Mrs.  Blair,  of  Carsdale, 
always  said,  congratulating  herself  upon  her  own  wisdom  in 
having  obtained  such  a  gem  for  her  brother-in-law.  "  An 
excellent  mother,"  as  said  all  the  mammas  of  Harley- 
street  and  Portland-place,  and  the  other  streets,  and  pla- 
ces, and  squares  which  were  included  in  the  circle  of  Caro- 
line's visiting  list.  And  as  an  excellent  wife  and  mother 
Caroline  always  comported  herself.  There  could  not 
have  been  more  orderly  children  than  my  six  little  ne- 
phews and  nieces  ;  all  round,  and  rosy,  and  neat,  and  quiet ; 
with  a  good  nurse  to  take  care  of  them  in  the  nursery, 
and  a  methodical,  unobtrusive  governess,  to  teach  them 
all  that  the  nineteenth  century  required  in  the  school- 
room. 

They  were  my  chief  interest  in  my  visits  to  Harley- 
street.  Yet  the  feeling  had  more  pain  than  pleasure  in  it. 
They  were  very  like  their  parents,  and  let  the  world 
nraise  as  it  might,  I  never  returned  from  a  fortnight  or  a 
month's  intercourse  with  Caroline  and  her  husband  with- 
out an  overpowering  depression  at  my  heart. 

It  is  sad,  most  sad,  to  watch  the  outlines  of  a  charac- 
ter gradually  becoming  harder  and  more  rigid  in  worldli- 
ness.  We  can  see  the  indications  of  what  it  may  be  in 
childhood  even,  but  a  thousand  things  may  happen  to  al- 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  185 

ter,  and  mould,  and  reconstruct  it.  There  will  always, 
indeed,  be  the  same  dispositions,  but  they  may  be  differ- 
ently balanced.  But  it  is  not  so  in  middle  age :  then, 
unless  some  great  shock,  upon  which  none  can  reckon, 
should  alter  the  whole  bias  of  the  mind,  it  takes  a  definite 
form  for  good  or  evil.  Frivolity  becomes  fixed  indiffer- 
ence to  serious  thought ;  care  for  self  becomes  utter  ne- 
glect of  others ;  love  of  money  becomes  avarice.  Caro- 
line had  cared  first  for  herself,  then  for  her  family  at 
East  Side:  now  she  cared  for  herself  alone.  Mr.  Blair 
had  prided  himself  upon  money  for  the  luxuries  which 
money  could  give :  now  he  was  bent  upon  its  acquisition 
as  in  itself  the  great  end  of  life.  The  faults  were  not 
visible  to  the  world,  but  they  were  fearfully  so  to  me ; 
and  the  tone  of  their  society,  the  atmosphere  in  which 
they  lived,  was,  in  consequence,  so  oppressive  to  me,  that 
I  could  with  difficulty  make  up  my  mind  to  endure  it  to 
the  length  of  my  promised  visits.  Yet  they  were  very 
kind  to  me  ;  they  always  made  me  welcome  to  their  house, 
and  my  birthday  was  a  day  of  festivity,  to  be  kept  in  my 
honour  by  a  holiday  for  the  children,  who  were  also  to 
wear  their  best  clothes,  and  go  for  a  drive  in  the  park. 
Hester  made  me  a  present  besides,  a  little  bag  of  her  own 
working ;  but  birthday  presents  were  not  the  fashion  in 
Harley-street,  though  they  had  never  been  forgotten  at 
East  Side.  In  spite  of  the  many  happy  returns  of  the  day 
that  were  wished  me,  I  should  have  felt  very  lonely  that 
morning  without  Hester.  Perhaps  I  was  growing  too 
anxious,  but  I  had  not  liked  the  last  letters  from  home. 
■"  My  father  was  complaining  of  not  feeling  well,"  my 
mother  said  ;  "  she  could  not  persuade  him  to  have  advice  ; 
he  thought  it  was  only  a  cold."  Very  simple  words ! 
perhaps  meaning  very  little,  perhaps  meaning  a  great  deal. 
It  was  not  strange  that  they  should  strike  me  with  pecu- 
liar force  upon  my  birthday,  for  such  days  never  leave  us 
at  rest  in  the  present ;  they  always  send  us  back  to  the 
past,  or  onwards  to  the  future  ;  and  as  I  sat  at  work  in 
the  back  drawing-room,  with  the  scent  of  the  pleasant 
flowers  in  the  little  conservatory  to  refresh  me,  and  the 
rattle  of  the  carriages  in  the  streets,  not  sufficiently  neai 
absolutely  to  distract  me,  I  pondered  much  and  de<?pN 


186  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

upon  my  own  prospacts  and  that  of  those  dear  to  me.  1 
had  long  known  that  some  great  change  must  come  upon 
us  before  many  years  were  over.  Even  if  I  had  ever  en 
tertained  the  idea  that  "  to-morrow  should  be  as  this  day, 
and  much  more  abundant,"  the  experience  of  eight  and 
twenty  years  must  have  fully  opened  my  eyes  to  the  delu- 
sion. My  sanguine  father  had  ceased  to  speak  of  the 
probability  of  riches ;  for  there  had  been  money  sunk  in 
the  mines  which  had  never  appeared  again,  and  year  by 
year  his  countenance  had  become  more  careworn,  and  my 
mother's  sighs  more  audible^  and  the  influence  of  the 
November  mists  had  been  felt  more  keenly,  as  my  uncle 
Ralph's  visits  increased  in  length  and  frequency.  Poor, 
then,  we  might  be,  very  poor,  for  the  larger  portion  of 
our  income  was  dependent  on  my  father's  life.  And  if  we 
were  poor,  who  was  to  help  us  1  Not  Mr.  Blair — it  would 
be  a  vain  humiliation  to  ask  when  the  experience  of  every 
day  and  every  hour  proved  that  there  was  no  heart  to 
give.  Not  Vaughan — he  was  struggling  for  a  bare  sub- 
sistence at  the  bar ;  or  rather  not  struggling, — he  was 
giving  way  to  his  natural  indolence,  wasting  his  talents 
and  his  time  whilst  indulging  himself  in  the  tastes  which 
he  deemed  essential  to  a  gentleman.  Not  Reginald — he 
was  in  Mr.  Blair's  office,  following  Mr.  Blair's  footsteps. 
Not  Herbert — good,  and  clever,  and  affectionate,  though 
he  was,  his  education  had  been  left  imperfect,  because  the 
entanglement  of  my  father's  affairs  had  interfered  with 
his  being  sent  to  college,  and  what  to  do  with  him  was  a 
question  which  it  was  becoming  every  day  more  difficult 
to  settle. 

My  mother's  relations  were,  for  the  most  part,  poor 
themselves.  My  uncle.  Sir  William  Vaughan,  was  a  stran- 
ger to  us,  and  report  spoke  of  him  as  being  deeply  in- 
volved. Aunt  Colston  and  uncle  Ralph  would  be  unwil- 
ling, and  aunt  Sarah  would  be  unable,  to  help  us.  There 
was,  indeed,  no  one  to  depend  upon  but  myself;  and  as 
the  thought  forced  itself  upon  me  fully  and  plainly,  my 
spirit  rose,  and  the  full  energy  of  my  mind  seemed,  for 
the  first  time,  realised  to  myself. 

I  had  but  little  physical  strength,  but  my  health  had 
improved  with  advancing  years  ;  if  I  could  never  hope  to 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  *  187 

be  strong,  yet  at  least  I  was  comparatively  relieved  from 
the  nervous,  depressing  symptoms  to  which  I  had  been 
subject  in  early  youth.  My  education  had  been  very  im- 
perfect ;  but  the  power  of  education  was  in  my  own  will. 
I  had  proved  it  by  the  lessons  I  had  set  myself,  the  his- 
tories I  had  read,  the  routine  of  study  which  I  had  fol- 
lowed, with  many  interruptions,  yet,  upon  the  whole,  dili- 
gently and  successfully,  for  the  last  ten  years.  If  I  had 
taught  myself,  I  might  hope  to  be  able  to  teach  others ; 
and,  as  the  idea  gained  force,  words  spoken  by  aunt  Sarah 
many  years  before,  and  which  had  since  recurred  to  my 
memory,  stamped,  as  it  were,  the  seal  upon  my  resolution  : 
"  There  is  more  honour,  and  more  profit,  both  for  this 
world  and  the  next,  in  fifty  pounds  gained  by  your  own  la- 
bour, than  in  five  hundred  doled  out  by  the  pity  of  others." 

Aunt  Sarah  was  right  in  that,  and  I  would  prove  it. 
Whatever  might  happen,  we  would  never  depend  upon  our 
relations.  Joanna  might  be  a  burden,  but  Hester  would 
never  leave  me  alone  ;  and  if  adversity  came,  it  should  at 
least  be  softened  to  my  mother  and  to  all,  as  far  as  my  ef- 
forts could  soften  it ;  for  what  had  I  else  to  live  for  ? 

I  thanked  God  that  I  had  given  no  "  hostages  to  the 
world,"  either  in  affection  or  dependence  upon  its  enjoy- 
ment, which  could  now  draw  me  back  from  any  sacrifice. 
I  was  free ;  free  to  give  my  heart  to  Him,  my  time  and 
my  labour  to  my  family. 

So,  doubtless,  the  prospect  of  a  life  of  incessant  work 
and  care  was  lightened  of  half  its  trial.  If  I  had  ever 
indulged  tlie  hope,  or  been  tempted  by  the  prospect  of 
happiness  in  married  life,  it  would  have  been  far  more  try- 
ing to  look  forward  to  years  of  toil  and  privation,  carry- 
ing me,  probably  without  rest,  to  the  time  when  labour 
would  cease,  because  the  power  to  labour  would  be  over. 
But  owing,  I  suppose,  to  my  own  want  of  attraction,  and 
the  fastidious  taste  which  could  never  meet  with  the  per- 
fection of  which  it  sometimes  dreamt,  I  had  reached  the 
age  of  eight-and-twenty,  not  only  without  having  had  the 
opportunity,  of  marriage,  but  without  having  seen  a  single 
person  who,  I  felt,  could  make  me  happy  in  such  a  life. 
Joanna  was  always  falling  in  love,  and  had  several  times 
been  on  the  verge  of  an  engagement,  at  least  according 


188  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF    LIFE. 

to  her  own  account.  Vaughan  was  frightening  us  contin 
ually  with  visions  of  an  imprudent  marriage  ;  even  Regi- 
nald had  his  decided  preference  and  fixed  intentions.  I 
was  sure  I  must  be  very  cold-hearted,  but  I  certainly  had 
not  the  power  of  seeing  what  others  saw,  or  feeling  what 
others  felt.  I  had  met  with  several  excellent,  superior 
men ;  if  they  had  paid  me  attention,  I  dare  say  I  might 
have  been  flattered,  and  fallen  in  love  with  them  ;  but  as 
they  did  not,  I'  was  quite  willing  that  they  should  devote 
themselves  to  other  persons,  and  always  rejoiced  when  the 
fact  of  their  marriage  enabled  me  to  convert  them  from 
ordinary  acquaintances,  with  whom  it  was  necessary  to  be 
upon  one's  guard  lest  the  world  might  talk,  into  hearty 
friends,  with  whom  one  might  be  quite  at  one's  ease. 

But  it  may  be  asked,  why,  when  looking  forward  to 
such  a  probable  necessity  for  exertion,  did  I  so  entirely 
set  aside  any  expectation  of  comfort  or  aid  from  my  aunt 
Colston?  Surely  she,  as  my  mother's  sister,  would  be 
bound  to  come  forward  in  a  case  of  difl&culty.  It  would 
be  a  very  natural  question.  I  was  almost  surprised  my- 
self to  find  how  entirely  I  overlooked  aunt  Colston  in  my 
considerations  as  to  the  future.  But  there  is  an  instinct, 
truer  than  reason,  which  teaches  us  who  will  and  who  will 
not  be  our  friend  in  the  day  of  adversity.  Aunt  Col- 
ston had  become  less  and  less  to  us  every  year.  She  spent 
a  certain  period  during  the  summer  at  the  cottage,  and 
professed  to  call  it  her  home ;  but  her  health  had  long 
been  declining,  and  in  the  winter  the  place  was  pronounced 
too  cold  for  a  residence.  My  aunt  herself  liked  the  cot- 
tage, and  would  willingly  have  remained  there,  declaring 
that  by  keeping  in  the  house,  and  taking  care  to  have  her 
room  always  of  an  equal  temperature,  she  could  manage  to 
get  through  the  cold  weather  perfectly  well.  But  the  idea 
was  always  opposed  by  Horatia,  who  expressed  the  great- 
est alarm  whenever  it  was  suggested,  and  succeeded  at 
last  not  only  in  keeping  my  aunt  away  during  the  winter, 
but  also  for  the  greater  part  of  the  year.  The  seasons 
which  she  did  spend  there  were  almost  always  those  in 
which  I  happened  to  be  from  home.  If  I  was  on  a  visit 
to  Caroline,  or  if,  as  had  once  or  twice  been  the  case,  I 
was  invited  to  enjoy  a  summer  excursion  with  Lady  Emily 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  189 

Kivers,  or,  in  fact,  if  I  had  any  engagement,  known  tole- 
rably long  beforehand,  I  was  sure  to  hear  that  aunt  Col- 
ston and  Horatia  had  been  at  the  cottage  ;  and  as  certain 
it  was  that  hints,  interferences,  and  complaints  followed. 
When  we  did  meet,  Horatia  and  I  were  very  good  friends. 
It  seemed,  indeed,  to  be  one  of  the  great  rules  of  her  life 
never  to  allow  herself  to  quarrel  with  any  one,  whatever 
cause  she  might  give  for  quarrelling  with  her.  The  sus- 
picious jealousy  which  she  had  once  so  incautiously,  as  I 
supposed,  expressed,  seemed  lulled  to  sleep  ;  though  I 
could  not  fail  to  observe  that  I  did  not  advance  in  aunt 
Colston's  estimation,  and  that  my  intimacy  with  Lady 
Emily  Rivers  especially  had  by  degrees  become  as  fre- 
quent a  subject  of  personal  censure  as  the  habits  of  ex- 
travagance, which  were  so  constantly  imputed  to  the  family 
at  large. 

Vanity,  sycophancy,  discontent  with  my  station  in  life, 
exclusiveness — I  had  lectures  upon  all  these  subjects, 
sometimes  in  conversation,  sometimes  in  writing.  Not, 
indeed,  that  I  was  directly  accused  ;  but  I  was  written 
and  talked  at,  and,  as  a  natural  consequence,  I  became 
shy,  uncomfortable,  and  reserved,  especially  as  regarded 
Lowood  ;  and  my  reserve  was  construed  into  want  of  af- 
fection, and — the  evil  increased  daily, — the  separation  be- 
came wider  and  wider. 

It  was  the  more  provoking  because  I  felt  that  such  a 
prejudice  was  strongly  against  my  aunt's  natural  charac- 
ter. With  her  keen  worldly  prudence,  she  would  have 
been  among  the  first  to  approve  of  a  friendship  which, 
whilst  it  introduced  me  to  the  society  of  persons  remark- 
able for  goodness,  talent,  and  refinement,  entailed  no  ex- 
pensive habits,  and  interfered  with  no  domestic  duties, 
but  gave  me  just  the  change  and  interest  which  my  indif- 
ferent health  and  the  pressure  of  family  cares  needed. 
There  must  be  some  other  influence  at  work,  and  it  could 
be  no  other  than  Horatia's.  For  Horatia  was  now  what 
she  had  been  ten  years  before  ;  only,  I  think,  a  little  more 
brusque,  a  little  more  openly  interfering  and  sarcastic ; 
perhaps,  also,  a  little  soured  in  her  views  of  life.  She 
had  had  many  disappointments,  some  only  guessed  by  her 
friends,  some  openly  avowed.     She  had  been  twice  en- 


190  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

gaged  to  be  married,  but  still  she  remarned  unmarried 
There  could  not  have  been  any  deep  regret  in  either  case 
The  first  engagement  was  broken  off  on  a  money  question, 
raised  by  my  aunt,  but  approved  by  herself.  The  second 
was  a  hasty  offer,  as  hastily  accepted,  and  ending  in  a  mu- 
tual conviction  that  itjpiras  better  to  separate  and  seek  for 
happiness  elsewhere.  The  gentleman  knew  where  to  look 
for  his  consolation,  for  he  married  six  weeks  afterwards : 
Horatia  was  not  so  fortunate ;  but  she  laughed  loudly, 
and  begged  her  friends  to  congratulate  her  upon  her  for- 
tunate escape. 

She  was  now  eight-and-thirty,  dependent  upon  my 
aunt,  and  becoming  every  day  more  entirely  bound  to  her. 
Illness  often  makes  even  unselfish  people  exacting,  and 
aunt  Colston,  never  inclined  to  yield  her  own  wishes,  had ' 
been  so  long  humoured  by  Horatia,  that  her  presence  was 
become  an  absolute  essential  of  life.  If  Horatia  wished 
to  be  married  now,  she  had  not  the  opportunity,  for  my 
aunt  never  went  into  society,  and  could  receive  but  few 
visitors  at  home.  Her  life  was  so  monotonous  that  I 
often  marvelled  how  Horatia  could  bear  it,  but  her  spirits 
never  failed,  and  with  all  her  faults  I  could  not  help  ad- 
miring the  energy  of  mind  which  enabled  her  to  bear  up 
against  the  daily  harass  of  an  exacting  disposition,  aggra- 
vated by  a  failing  constitution.  All  that  ever  seemed  to 
disturb  her  was  the  idea  of  any  interference  with  the  po- 
sition which  she  occupied  in  my  aunt's  household.  Her 
jealousy  on  this  point  was  so  great  that  we  scarcely  ever 
ventun3d  to  take  the  most  trifling  liberty  at  the  cottage. 
If  my  aunt  was  out  of  the  room  we  never  even  rang  the 
bell,  or  asked  for  a  glass  of  water  without  an  apology  to 
Horatia,  for  we  knew  that  she  considered  it  an  attention 
which  was  her  due.  "  Very  absurd,"  we  often  said  it  was  ; 
"  but  still  if  she  liked  it,  it  did  not  signify  to  us."  My 
mother,  I  think,  was  the  most  fretted  by  Horatia's  man- 
ner. It  was  very  galling  to  a  sister  to  be  under  this 
species  of  subjection,  and  she  was  roused  once  to  make 
some  observation  about  it  to  aunt  Colston.  But  the  an- 
swer was  decisive.  "  Horatia  has  acted  as  my  child  for 
many  years.  When  a  mother  is  ill,  the  child  must  natu- 
rally take  the  mother's  place." 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  191 

This  title  of  aunt  Colston's  child  wa«  that  on  which 
Horatia  prided  herself ;  and  I  could  have  felt  with  her  if 
I  could  have  been  sure  that  the  feeling  of  professed  affec- 
tion was  sincere.  But  there  was  a  parade  of  duty  con- 
nected with  it  which  was  offensive  to  me  ;  and,  I  dare  say- 
also,  I  was  inclined  to  be  severe  because  it  always  served 
as  the  nail  upon  which  to  hang  one  of  the  many  lectures 
bestowed  upon  myself.  "  Horatia  is  indeed  a  true  and 
devoted  daughter,"  wrote  aunt  Colston  to  me,  once,  when 
she  heard  that  I  was  to  go  for  a  six  weeks'  tour  in  Wales 
with  Lady  Emily  Rivers.  "  I  could  wish  that  all  were 
like  her ; — no  selfish  seeking  of  her  own  pleasure,  no  neg- 
lect of  home  duties ; — ^er  attentions  are  unwearied,  and  I 
am  thankful  to  say  that  she  is  contented  to  remain  in  the 
station  of  usefulness  in  which  she  has  been  placed,  and 
never  allows  any  vain  longings  for  the  ultra  refinements 
of  rank  and  wealth  to  draw  her  away  from  the  wholesome 
occupations  of  ordinary  life." 

Very  true  and  very  right,  doubtless.  But  what  was 
it  to  me  ?  Did  it  mean  that  I  neglected  my  domestic  du- 
ties? Conscience,  with  its  many,  many  reproaches,  com- 
forted me  upon  that  point.  It  comforted  me  when  I  sat 
by  myself  in  the  back  drawing-room  in  Harley-street,  on 
my  eight-and-twentieth  birthday,  and  took  a  review  of  my 
past  life.  With  all  its  trials  and  its  fears,  my  home  was 
not  now  the  cause  for  anxiety  which  it  once  had  been.  If 
we  had  been  extravagant  we  were  daily  becoming  more 
careful ;  if  we  had  been  too  fond  of  society  we  were  daily 
learning  to  live  to  ourselves,  and  find  amusements  within 
our  own  circle ;  if  we  had  as  a  family — for  I  can  never  al- 
low that  it  was  my  mother's  case — been  thoughtless  of  the 
welfare  of  the  poor,  there  were  those  then  living,  both  at 
Carsdale  and  East  Side,  who  would  bless  our  name  during 
life,  and,  it  might  be,  stand  forth  as  witnesses  of  our  care 
for  them  in  the  Great  Day  of  account.  And  I  felt,  I 
knew,  that  through  the  infinite  Mercy  of  God,  my  influence 
had  in  some  degree  been  instrumental  to  this  change.  It 
had  come  very  gradually  from  slight  beginnings  ;  partly,  I 
had  reason  to  hope,  from  my  own  intercourse  with  Lowood, 
and  the  little  help  I  had  been  enabled  to  give  to  Lady 
Emily  in  her  charities.     My  mother  had  worked  alone  till 


192  THE   EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE. 

then,  thinking  me  perhaps  too  young  to  engage  in  such 
duties  ;  but  when  she  found  that  I  was  willing  and  anx- 
ious to  undertake  them,  she  gave  me  both  assistance  and 
advice,  and  the  sense  of  companionship  roused  her  own 
energy,  and  in  the  end  acted  also  upon  my  father.  He 
was  a  kind-hearted  and  very  generous  man,  with  religious 
tastes,  though  not  strictly  religious  principles.  He  never 
neglected  cases  of  distress  which  were  brought  before  him, 
and  when  my  mother  and  I  sought  them  out,  his  indolence 
was  overcome,  and  he  made  an  effort  to  relieve  them. 
Even  this  was  a  comfort  to  me ;  it  was  far  better  that  his 
leisure  moments,  which  were  many,  should  be  spent  in  de- 
vising plans  for  the  relief  of  suffering,  even  if  they  were 
beyond  his  power  to  carry  out,  than  in  dreaming  over  the 
politics  of  the  day,  or  exerting  himself  only  to  mark  out  a 
new  flower-bed,  or  pull  down  an  ugly  fence.  But  disap- 
pointment deepened  this  first  impulse  for  good.  He  was 
disappointed  in  Vaughan.  He  had  dwelt  upon  the  thought 
that  his  eldest  son  would  distinguish  himself  at  college, 
and  Vaughan,  indolent  like  himself,  lounged  away  his  first 
terms  in  the  society  of  a  few  friends  of  wealth  and  rank, 
spent  twice  the  money  which  he  ought  to  have  done,  and 
then  in  desperation  read  so  hard  that  he  worked  himself 
into  a  nervous  fever,  and  barely  escaped  being  plucked. 

And  this  beginning  was  the  history  of  the  continua- 
tion. Vaughan  at  the  bar  was  what  Vaughan  had  been 
at  college.  My  father  lost  all  confidence  and  all  hope. 
If  my  brother  ever  managed  to  support  himself,  it  was 
all,  he  said,  we  were  to  expect ;  and  then  he  sat  down  in 
his  arm-chair,  and  brooded  over  the  nothingness  of  the 
world's  expectations,  and  might  have  sunk  into  useless 
misanthropy,  if  the  kindness  of  his  disposition  had  not 
from  time  to  time  been  goaded  into  exertion. 

I  was  quick  in  perceiving  the  advantage  to  be  gained, 
and  though  my  mother's  tenderness  often  made  her  shrink 
from  paining  him  by  telling  him  of  suffering  which  he 
could  not  relieve,  I  felt  myself  that  the  pain  was  more 
wholesome  than  the  cure.  The  feelings  were  not  permit- 
ted to  evaporate  in  mere  sympathy.  If  he  could  not  give 
money,  he  could  give  time,  and  we  persuaded  him  to  be- 
come a  member  of  some  of  the  Carsdale  societies,  and  to 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  193 

use  his  interest  with  his  friends  when  he  had  no  means 
of  doing  any  good  in  any  other  way,  and  so  by  degrees 
his  thoughts  were  directed  into  a  new  channel.  And  then 
at  last  came  the  real  change  which  I  was  longing  to  see. 

Present  duties  made  him  look  back  upon  the  years 
when  they  had  been  omitted,  and  sorrow  for  one  neglect 
touched  the  conscience  with  regard  to  others.  He  said 
little,  but  I  saw  a  yearly-increasing  care  for  religious 
duties,  greater  energy,  greater  watchfulness  ;  and  though 
I  had  observed  for  some  time  the  fact,  to  which  my 
mother's  eyes  were  ^ust  becoming  opened,  that  his  health 
was  failing,  I  looked  forward  to  the  future  as  regarded 
him  with  calm  and  cheerful  hope.  My  mother  herself  was 
less  anxious  upon  worldly  matters  than  formerly :  her  gentle 
character  was  gaining  strength  by  trust.  I  did  not  fear 
that  her  spirit  would  sink  under  poverty ;  but  her  affec- 
tions were  intense  ;  and  when  I  thought  what  she  might 
have  to  suffer,  I  could  only  pray  that  God  would  support 
her.  Joanna  perhaps  was  my  greatest  care.  She  was 
still  so  undisciplined,  living  for  gaiety  and  admiration,  and 
sighing  because,  as  time  went  on,  and  the  habits  of  the 
family  altered,  she  had  less  opportunity  of  receiving 
them.  At  one  time  I  had  feared  that  she  might  influence 
Hester,  who  was  excitable,  eager,  impetuous,  and  often 
carried  away  by  feeling ;  but  there  were  strong  counter- 
acting safeguards,  most  especially  in  the  general  tone  of 
our  home  circle,  and  the  affection  which  united  the  two 
children,  as  they  were  still  called,  Herbert  and  Hester. 
Th^y  were  so  happy  in  each  other,  that  they  had  no  cause 
to  seek  for  interest  elsewhere.  I  am  afraid  I  was  a  little 
proild  of  Herbert,  because  I  had,  in  a  measure,  educated 
him  myself;  I  had  given  him,  that  is,  the  stimulus  and 
support  which  his  desultory  home  studies  needed.  I  had 
read  and  studied  with  him,  much  more  for  his  sake  than 
my  own,  and  the  labour  bestowed  had  been  abundantly 
repaid.  If  he  could  only  have  the  same  advantages  as 
Vaughan,  I  felt  that  he  would  be  all  that  my  father  had 
once  expected  of  his  eldest  son.  And,  oh  !  how  difficult 
it  was  to  keep  down  the  rush  of  reproachful  and  bitter 
regret,  as  I  felt  that  his  prospects  for  life  might  be 
ruined  by  the  faults  of  others. 


194  THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE. 

He  himself  was  willing  to  do  any  thing.  He  would 
have  worked  like  Reginald  with  Mr.  Blair  if  it  had  been 
required.;  but  there  was  no  opening  for  such  employment. 
One  out  of  the  family  was  sufficient,  Caroline  said ;  and 
I  did  not  in  the  least  desire  to  contradict  her.  One  out 
of  the  family  was,  in  my  own  opinion,  one  too  many, 
judging  by  Reginald,  whojiad  become  a  cautious  man  of 
business,  wrapt  up  in  self,  and  dreaming  of  nothing  but 
profit  and  loss  even -before  he  was  five  and  twenty.  Re- 
ginald was  the  one  amongst  all  my  brothers  and  sisters 
for  whom  I  had  the  least  sympathy :  -I  often  blamed  my- 
self for  it,  and,  whenever  I  was  in  London,  tried  to  draw 
him  out  and  make  him  fond  of  me.  But  efforts  of  that 
kind  seldom  succeed.  We  were  totally  uncongenial,  and 
had  been  so  from  infancy.  "We  never  could  see  things  in 
the  same  light,  or  fix  our  affections  upon  the  same  objects  ; 
and  he  was  so  shrewd,  I  am  sure  he  saw  that  my  manner 
was  forced  when  I  tried  to  take  an  interest  in  the  things 
which  interested  him.  And  I  am  certain,  also,  that  he 
felt  my  opinion,  though  it  had  never  been  expressed. 
Some  persons  have  a  remarkable  faculty — an  instinct  it 
seems — for  discovering  what  others  think  of  them.  Re- 
ginald had  a  wish  to  be  respected ;  and  he  knew  that  I 
did  not  respect  him,  and  so  my  presence  was  galling  to 
him. 

And  for  myself — it  is  never  well  to  speak  of  oneself; 
yet  in  this  instance,  perhaps,  it  may  be  allowed ;  for  if 
work  was  to  be  done,  and  to  me  alone  was  granted  the 
power  to  do  it,  it  was  necessary  to  look  closely  into  my 
own  character,  and  inquire  fully  into  its  capabilities. 
What  effect,  then,  had  these  ten  important  years  of  life 
had  upon  myself  ?  They  had  not  altered,  but  they  had 
deepened  and  widened,  my  principles  and  opinions.  They 
had,  I  hope,  enlarged  my  charity  for  the  fault  of  others, 
by  affording  me  a  clearer  insight  into  my  own :  they  had 
dispelled  many  illusions,  disappointed  many  expectations, 
given  me  a  calmer,  though  a  sadder,  view  of  life ;  but 
they  had  also — and  this  was  the  great  work  which  I  felt 
they  had  accomplished,  when  I  stood  in  thought  upon  the 
brink  of  futurity,  and  looked  into  the  dark  gulf  below — 
they  had  given  me  a  consciousness  of  power. 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  195 

I  was  then  self-confident,  self-trusting.  May  He  who 
reads  the  heart  forgive  me  if  I  deceive  myself  in  repelling 
the  charge.  I  had,  indeed,  sometimes  been  told  that  1 
was  clever,  and  I  felt  that  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  I 
might  appear  good.  I  had  influence  with  my  family :  my 
father  listened  to  me ;  my.  mother  rested  upon  me ;  my 
brothers  and  sisters  consulted  me.  I  had  influence  out  of 
my  family,  at  Lowood,  at  Oarsdale,  in  private  circles,  even 
amongst  persons  whose  character  and  talents  enforced 
respect.  I  saw  it  all  plainly.  Sometimes  I  compelled 
myself  to  look  at  it,  imagining,  with  a  painful  self-mock- 
ery, the  words  of  praise,  the  lavish  approbation  that  might 
be  bestowed  upon  me  ;'  and  then  carrying  my  thoughts  on, 
and  on,  and  on, — beyond  life,  beyond  the  grave,  beyond 
the  quiet  world  of  rest,  till  I  stood  before  the  judgment 
seat  of  Heaven,  and  saw  myself  "  wretched,  and  miserable, 
and  poor,  and  blind,  and  naked,"  sinking  beneath  the  load 
of  secret  sins,  and  the  burden  of  that  delusive  praise,  the 
falsity  of  which  I  had  at  times  made  my  own  by  delight- 
ing in  it. 

God  only  knows  the  awfulness  of  such  moments  :  God 
only  knows  the  unspeakable  rest  of  casting  away  the  con- 
sciousness of  self,  the  mask  of  this  world's  flattery,  and  re- 
posing beneath  that  "  Shadow  of  a  Great  Rock  in  a  weary 
land,"  the  thought  of  a  Saviour.  No  :  if  there  were  mo- 
ments when  praise  was  sweet,  and  deference  was  dear, 
there  were  others  when  they  were  the  crushing  weight 
which  bowed  my  spirit  to  the  dust ;  the  mocking,  haunting 
phantoms  of  evil,  from  which  I  would  have  fled  into  the 
wilderness,  and  hidden  myself  from  the  sight  of  all  men, 
to  live  alone  with  God  and  the  sorrowful  memories  of  my 
Bins. 

It  was  not,  I  trust,  self-confidence,  in  its  wrong  sense, 
which  enabled  me  to  contemplate  the  future  without 
dread  ;  but  the  feeling,  thankfully  acknowledged,  that  He 
who  watched  over  me,  whilst  placing  trial  before  me,  had 
also  put  within  my  reach  the  means  of  meeting  and  over- 
coming it.  My  thoughts,  therefore,  though  they  were 
serious,  were  not  sad ;  and  when  Hester  came  in  and  put 
a  stop  to  them,  I  doubt  if  she  had  the  least  suspiciSb 
from  my  countenance  what  their  nature  had  been. 


19^3  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LITE. 

Her  presence  acted,  as  it  always  did,  like  a  sunbeam. 

Certainly  she  was  wonderfully  winning  and  pretty.  It 
could  not  have  been  merely  my  sisterly  partiality  which 
made  me  look  at  her  with  such  delight.  There  was  an 
indefinable  charm  in  the  varying  expression,  the  brilliant, 
yet  softened,  flash  of  her  blue  eye  ;  so  deep  in  its  hue,  and 
shaded  with  such  long  dark  fringe,  that  the  colour  was 
often  mistaken  for  hazel ;  and  the  small  mouth,  with  its 
bewitching  smile,  said  so  much  even  when  she  was  silent ; 
and  the  dimple  on  her  cheek  was  so  childlike  and  joyous  ; 
one  might  have  known,  before  she  uttered  a  word,  how 
light-hearted  would  be  the  tones  of  her  voice,  and  how 
clear  and  soft  would  be  the  music  of  her  ringing  laugh. 
And  she  was  so  exquisitely  graceful  too, — her  little  head 
was  placed  so  beautifully  upon  her  long  neck,  and  her  slight 
figure  was  so  well  proportioned,  and  her  movements  had 
such  a  natural  ease ;  and  with  it  all,  she  was  so  quick  in 
comprehension,  so  simple  in  her  humility,  so  loving  and 
unselfish,  and,  even  in  her  faults,  so  candid  and  forgiving — 
if  she  had  been  my  pupil  only,  I  must  have  delighted  in 
her ;  as  my  sister — the  child  whom  I  had  almost  nursed 
from  infancy,  the  special  charge  entrusted  to  me  by  my 
mother, — I  prayed  that  my  love  might  not  be  idolatry. 
"  Alone,  mammy,  darling  !  "  she  said  ;  and  she  sat  down 
on  the  arm  of  my  chair,  and,  putting  her  arm  round  my 
neck,  looked  up  into  my  face  with  a  half  laughing,  half  re- 
proachful smile  : — "  Oh,  fie,  you  told  me  you  were  going 
to  have  the  children  with  you,  or  I  never  would  have  gone 
away  to  my  own  room  to  write."  "  They  were  here  for  a 
few  minutes,"  I  said  ;  "  and  then  nurse  came  for  them,  to 
try  on  some  new  frocks.  But  have  you  finished  your 
letter  ?  "  "  Not  quite  ;  I  wanted  to  know  whether  you  had 
any  message."  "  Only  to  beg  Joanna  to  write  directly,  if 
she  thinks  there  is  any  reason  for  our  return :  or  stay,  I 
think  I  will  add  one  line  myself  to  my  mother."  "  What 
a  dear  little,  anxious,  troubled  spirit  you  have,  my  poor 
mammy.  What  put  it  into  your  head  that  there  could  be 
any  reason?  "  "  My  mother's  letter,"  I  replied.  "  If  my 
father  is  ill,  she  will  tire  herself  to  death  in  nursing  him." 
"J  did  not  see  much  about  papa's  being  ill,"  said  Hester, 
rather  iu  a  tone  of  alarm,  as  she  took  up  the   letter 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE.  197 

which  was  lying  on  the  work  table.  She  glanced  through 
it  hastily  and  read  aloud :  "  He  has  had  a  cold,  and 
complains  of  general  weakness  ;  but  I  cannot  persuade  him 
to  see  Dr.  Blair."  "  Was  there  nothing  more  ?  "  "  No 
thing,"  I  replied  ;  and  I  felt  almost  ashamed  of  my  fears^ 
though  I  knew  also  that  the  general  weakness  had  been 
the  complaint  of  months  past.  "  You  see,  mammy,  dear," 
said  Hester,  "  that,  if  you  sit  alone  and  conjure  up  fancies, 
it  will  undo  all  the  good  of  the  change  to  London.  So  we 
won't  think  anything  more  about  our  home  ;  but  we  will 
put  on  our  bonnets,  and  go  out  and  enjoy  ourselves  ;  and 
then  we  shall  do  quite  well,  as  Dr.  Blair  says,  when  he 
orders  a  mustard  plaster ;  "  and  she  rubbed  her  hands 
together,  and  looked  so  absurdly  like  Dr.  Blair,  that  in  spite 
of  my  anti-mimicry  principles,  I  could  not  possibly  help 
laughing.  "  And,  moreover,"  said  Hester,  looking  at  the 
letter  again,  "  if  we  only  go  in  the  right  direction,  and 
choose  the  right  hours,  and  do  all  the  other  things  that 
ought  to  be  done,  we  may — who  knows  ? — we  may  meet 
Lady  Emily  Bivers."  "Lady  Emily!"  I  exclaimed. 
"  Oh  !  Hester,  how  absurd  !  why,  she  is  at  Lowood."  "  Is 
she?"  Hester  pointed  to  a  postscript,  which  I  had  over- 
looked. '  Lady  Emily  Bivers  was  here  yesterday,  offering 
to  take  anything  to  town  for  you,  though  she  doubts  if 
she  shall  be  able  to  see  you,  as  they  are  only  to  be  away  a 
week.'  "  I  wonder  what  brings  her  to  town,"  I  said  ;  "  she 
dislikes  London  so  much."  Hester's  bright  face  assumed 
an  air  of  pompous  gravity,  and  her  voice  changed  into  the 
fullest,  most  oracular  tones,  as  she  replied  :  "  A  woman  of 
business,  my  dear  sister,  is  never  mistress  of  her  own 
time."  "Hush!  Hester.  How  naughty!  Caroline  will 
hear  you."  "  And  recognise  our  dear  brother  ?  You  like 
to  hear  me  call  him  brother,  don't  you  ?  "  and  she  laughed, 
and  gave  me  a  kiss.  "  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  speak  of 
him  at  all :  you  never  do  so  with  any  respect."  "  What  a 
libel  I  and  it  was  only  yesterday  that  Beginald  and  I 
agreed  he  was  worth  double  any  ordinary  brother,  for  that 
there  was  substance  enough  in  hi-m  to  make  two  at  least." 
I  looked  really  grave  at  this,  and  told  her  that  it  was  always 
dangerous  to  give  way  to  mimicry  and  idle  talking ;  and 
that  it  must  be  especially  wrong  to  encourage  Beginald  in 


198  THE   EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE. 

laughing  at  Mr.  Blair,  for  he  was  under  such  great  obli- 
gations to  him.  She  looked  sorry,  and  confessed  she  had 
forgotten ;  but  as  she  ran  away  to  dress  for  walking,  she 
put  her  head  in  at  the  door  again,  and  said  seriously : 
"  You  know,  mammy,  if  there  is  a  debtor's  side  of  the  ac- 
count book,  we  may  be  quite  sure  there  is  a  creditor's  too, 
and  some  day  there  will  come  a  day  of  reckoning." 

Hester  was  more  right  than  I  chose  to  acknowledge 
to  her.  If  Mr.  Blair  was  conferring  benefits  on  Reginald 
it  was  certain  that  he  was  not  doing  so  at  any  loss  to 
himself,  for  I  had  heard  him  say,  several  times,  that  Regi- 
nald did  his  own  work  and  that  of  a  clerk  besides. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

I  DID  not  really  expect  to  see  Lady  Emily  Rivers ;  and  I 
fancied  at  first  I  did  not  wish  to  see  her,  because  the 
interview  would  be  tantalising  ;  but  notwithstanding,  I 
looked  into  every  carriage  that  drove  by,  hoping  she 
might  be  in  it.  We  were  seldom  in  London  together  ;  and 
when  we  were  our  intercourse  was  very  different  from 
what  it  was  in  the  country,  for  the  circles  of  our  society 
were  far  apart.  Lady  Emily  came  to  stay  with  her  father, 
and  had  her  own  friends  and  acquaintances,  in  a  sphere 
much  above  that  of  Mr.  Blair  and  Harley  Street,  and,  in 
consequence,  I  saw  but  little  of  her.  I  never  expected,  or 
indeed  wished,  that  it  should  be  otherwise.  In  a  place 
like  London,  where  it  is  impossible  to  know  every  one, 
the  selection  of  society  is  naturally  made  according  to  the 
rank  and  circumstances  of  individuals.  Caroline  did  not 
visit  a\iy  of  Lady  Emily  Rivers'  friends ;  and  if  she  did 
not,  I  could  not ;  for  I  never  felt  the  smallest  wish  to 
separate  myself  from  my  family.  But  I  confess  that  I 
was  pleased  and  happy  when  I  found  that  Lady  Emily 
made  a  point  of  coming  to  see  me  whenever  we  happened 
to  be  in  London  at  the  same  time,  and  of  taking  me  with 
her,  if  possible,  to  any  particularly  interesting  sight.  It 
was  much  mof  e  agreeable  to  be  together  in  this  way  than 
it  would  have  been  to  be  asked  to  a  grand  dinner  party  ; 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP    LIFE.  *99 

anS  the  few  hours  spent  with  her  had  been  amongst  some 
of  the  brightest  spots  in  my  London  visits. 

Hester  was  full  of  prophecies  that  we  should  meet 
Lady  Emily  that  morning.  We  knew  the  shops  to  which 
she  was  accustomed  to  go  ;  and,  after  paying  two  or  three 
visits,  I  was  persuaded  to  walk  to  a  bookseller's,  where  she 
was  often  to  be  found,  upon  the  chance  of  her  being  there. 
Upon  consideration,  I  began  to  wish  that  we  might  meet 
either  her  or  Mr.  Rivers.  I  thought  they  might  tell  us 
something  about  home,  and  anxiety  was  still  latent  in  my 
mind,  though  Hester's  cheerfulness  for  the  time  overpow- 
ered it.  We  were  walking  leisurely  along,  through  a 
quiet  street,  when  a  pretty  little  open  carriage,  drawn  by 
a  pair  of  beautiful  ponies,  drove  by  us.  A  gentleman  and 
two  ladies  were  in  it ;  but  we  scarcely  looked  at  them  in 
our  admiration  of  the  horses.  Just,  however,  as  we  were 
turning  a  corner  into  another  street,  a  sharp  cry  was 
heard,  followed  by  an  eager  rush  of  people.  Some  acci- 
dent had  happened,  and  without  cdbsideration  we  hasten- 
ed back  a  few  steps,  to  see  what  it  was.  There  was  a 
great  crowd,  and  we  were  pushed  and  jostled,  and  fright- 
ened, and  could  understand  nothing  except  that  one  of 
the  ponies  had  fallen.  The  gentleman  was  standing  by  it 
with  the  servant :  the  ladies  were  gone.  It  seemed  that 
there  was  no  other  mischief.  Hester  looked  pale,  and  I  in- 
sisted upon  her  going  home,  and  certainly  heartily  wished 
myself  there  ;  for  the  crowd  that  had  gathered,  though  per- 
fectly orderly,  was  exceedingly  disagreeable.  We  tried 
to  advance  ;  but  as  we  had  to  pass  by  the  spot  which  was 
the  centre  of  attraction,  it  was  very  difficult.  Hester, 
once  or  twice,  begged  in  her  gentle  tones  that  she  might 
be  allowed  to  go  on  ;  but  no  notice  was  taken  of  the 
Truest ;  and,  half  laughing  at  the  absurdity  of  our  posi- 
tion, yet,  blaming  myself,  for  having  so  foolishly  placed 
ourselves  in  it,  I  begged  her  to  wait  patiently.  She  was 
too  eager,  however,  for  this,  and  moreover,  a  little  alarmed 
at  being  so  unmercifully  pressed  upon  ;  and,  by  continuing 
her  efforts,  had  made  some  progress,  when  the  crowd 
separated,  to  make  way  for  the  gentleman  who,  having 
given  directions  to  his  servant  about  the  pony,  was  now  at 
liberty  to  rejoin  his  companions.     They  were  in  a  shop 


200  THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE. 

near,  and  as  a  passage  was  opened  for  him  without  diflS. 
culty,  it  seemed  a  good  opportunity  for  setting  ourselves 
free.  Hester  tried  again  to  soften  the  heart  of  a  substan- 
tial looking  farmer,  just  in  front  of  her,  begging  pardon 
very  politely,  but  might  she  be  allowed  to  pass  ?  Her 
efforts  attracted  the  notice  of  the  stranger,  and,  seeing 
that  we  were  ladies,  and  unprotected,  he  stopped,  made 
the  people  move  aside,  and,  suggesting  that  we  had  better 
follow  him,  took  us  to  the  place  where  his  own  friends 
were  waiting.  It  happened  to  be  a  shop  which  I  had 
several  times  been  into  with  Lady  Emily  Kivers,  and  as 
we  sat  down  to  rest  for  a  few  minutes,  and  give  time  for 
the  croyd  to  disperse.  I  took  the  opportunity  of  asking 
whether  she  had  been  there  that  morning.  Our  new 
friends  turned  round  rather  quickly  as  the  name  caught 
their  attention.  The  gentleman  smiled,  apologised  for  the 
observation,  but, — if  we  were  wishing  to  see  Lady  Emily, 
she  would  be  there,  probably,  almost  immediately.  They 
had  made  an  engagement  to  meet  her.  His  features 
struck  me  immediately.  The  likeness,  which  I  had 
scarcely  thought  of  noticing  before,  was  easily  perceptible. 
He  must  be  her  brother,  Mr.  Beresford,  who  I  knew  had 
lately  returned  from  abroad.  Of  course  we  soon  made  an 
acquaintance  and  entered  into  conversation.  He  was 
very  much  younger,  and  more  decidedly  good  looking, 
than  Lady  Emily.  I  suppose  I  was  prejudiced  in  his 
favour  ;  but  he  certainly  took  my  fancy  particulg,rly :  there 
was  so  much  of  her  ease,  and  kindness,  and  simplicity, 
about  him.  One  or  two  things  he  said  gave  me  an  idea 
that  he  was  wanting  in  depth  of  character  ;  but  it  was 
unfair  to  judge  on  such  a  very  slight  acquaintance.  The 
two  ladies  a  little  puzzled  me  at  first ;  they  were  a  mother 
and  daughter;  but  I  did  not  hear  their  names.  The 
mother  was  rather  stately ;  the  daughter  very  pleasing 
and  genteel,  but  not  pretty.  They  were  in  some  way, 
related  to,  or  connected  with,  Mr.  Beresford.  that  I  soon 
found  ;  and,  after  about  ten  minutes'  conversation,  I  de- 
cided in  my  own  mind  that  he  must  be  engaged  to  the 
young  lady,  or  wishing  to  be  so,  for  his  attentions  were 
very  marked. 

It  was  rather  an  amusing  little  episode  in  the  morning's 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  201 

adventure,  especially  with  the  prospect  of  seeing  Lady 
Emily  at  its  termination ;  and,  though  she  delayed  longer 
than  I  expected,  I  was  easily  persuaded  to  wait.  She 
came  at  last,  alone,  hurried,  and  anxious,  having  just  heard 
of  the  accident.  Hester  and  I  kept  in  the  back  ground. 
How  had  it  happened  ?  was  any  one  hurt  ?  was  Sophia 
frightened  ?  would  they  not  all  come  at  once  to  Grosvenor- 
square  ?  She  was  so  full  of  thought  for  them,  that  she  did 
not  perceive  the  presence  of  any  other  person,  till  Mr. 
Beresford  laughingly  begged  to  introduce  two  ladies,  whose 
acquaintance  he  had  just  had  the  pleasure  of  making.  The 
cordial,  affectionate  greeting  that  followed — how  delight- 
ful it  was  in  the  frigid  atmosphere  of  London  !  IWmade 
me  feel  at  home  again,  which  I  never  thoroughly  did  in 
Harley-street ;  and  when  Lady  Emily  insisted  upon  our 
going  with  them  to  see  a  splendid  private  collection  of  In- 
dian curiosities,  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  refuse. 
A  message  was  despatched  to  Harley-street,  to  say  where 
we  were  to  be  found,  and  Lady  Emily's  carriage  having 
conveyed  the  stately  lady,  Mrs.  Spencer  Grant,  who  was 
rather  over-fatigued,  to  her  own  house,  returned  again  for 
us.  , 

I  had  been  absent  from  East  Side  more  than  a  month 
— a  long  time  for  the  growth  of  the  dear,  though  trifling, 
interests  of  home ;  and  Lady  Emily  and  I  had  much  to 
say  to  each  other,  for  East  Side  and  Lowood  had  many 
things  in  common.  But  it  was  impossible  to  talk  whilst 
rattling  through  the  noisy  streets  ;  we  contented  ourselves 
with  making  the  attempt  half-a-dozen  times,  and  as  often 
giving  it  up,  till  we  found  ourselves  in  the  long  Indian 
gallery  ;^  and  then,  whilst  Hester,  Miss  Grant,  and  Mr. 
Beresford  set  forth  on  a  journey  of  discovery,  to  see  what 
was  most  worth  seeing.  Lady  Emily  and  I  walked  slowly 
up  and  down  the  room,  not  absolutely  unmindful  of  the 
curiosities,  but,  I  fear,  more  engrossed  in  our  own  affairs 
than  in  them. 

"  Hester  looks  quite  lovely  this  morning,"  said  Lady 
Emily,  her  eye  following  the  party  as  they  walked  away. 
"  You  say  that  to  please  me,"  I  replied,  laughing  ;  "  you 
know  my  weak  point."  "  No,  I  never  flatter  any  person's 
weakness,  least  of  all  in  the  question  of  beauty ;  but  Hes- 


202  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  , 

ter  is  cliarming  ;  like  a  rosebud  with  the  dew  upon  it,  as 
my  poetical  brother  would  say.  She  is  so  entirely  fresh. 
Butj  tell  me,  how  did  you  hear  I  was  to  be  in  town?  I 
did  not  know  I  was  coming  up  myself  till  the  day  before 
yesterday."  "  My  mother  writes  me  word  of  every  thing, 
especially  every  thing  that  concerns  Lowood,"  I  replied. 
"  Oh.  yes,  I  forgot ;  I  saw  them  all  at  East  Side,  after 
paying  an  inspecting  visit  to  my  new  mistress  and  my 
eight  girls,  at  Carsdale  ;  eight  there  are  now,  Sarah,  actu- 
ally admitted,  thanks  to  aunt  Sarah  and  Dr.  Blair."  "  I 
always  thought  Dr.  Blair  a  very  kind-hearted  man,"  I  said. 
"  Decidedly  sensible,"  observed  Lady  Emily,  with  a  merry 
laugl^  "  he  is  so  captivated  with  the  last  little  housemaid 
we  have  sent  him  from  the  school,  that  he  insists  upon 
giving  us  five  guineas  a  year  for  the  next  five  years ;  and 
aunt  Sarah's  five  makes  ten ;  so  the  eighth  girl  was  duly 
elected  last  Thursday.  But  I  really  must  not  begin  talk- 
ing about  the  school,  or  I  shall  never  stop.  I  want  to  say 
something  more  about  your  own  concerns.  When  do  you 
go  back  1 "  "  When  I  am  sent  for,"  I  replied  ;  "  unless  I 
take  fright,  and  set  off  suddenly.  To  confess  the  truth,  I 
am  not  quite  comfortable  about  my  father.".  "He  is  not 
looking  well,"  observed  Lady  Emily,  gravely.  "  No,  and 
he  has  not  been  well  for  some  time,  and  my  mother  now 
says  he  is  weak.  I  never  like  that  kind  of  weakness  which 
comes  on  no  one  knows  why."  Lady  Emily  looked  still 
more  thoughtful,  and  said,  "  Mr.  Rivers  remarked  to  me, 
the  other  day,  that  he  wa^altered  ;  but  you  should  try  and 
get  him  away  from  East  Side  ;  make  him  come  up  to  Lon- 
don, and  stay  with  your  sister,  and  have  advice."  "  Yes, 
if  one  could ;  but — there  are  a  great  many  buts  in  the 
world ; "  and  I  sighed  involuntarily.  "  And  a  special 
number  at  East  Side,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Lady  Emily.  "  I 
wish  I  could  help  you,  Sarah,  dear."  "I  don't  know  that 
we  have  more  '  buts'  than  the  rest  of  the  world,"  I  replied; 
"only  one  goes  on  thinking  sometimes,  and  you  know  I  am 
eight  and  twenty  to-day ;  so  I  am  bound  to  think,  for  I 
am  growing  old."  '"Eight  and  twenty  !  are  you,  indeed? 
How  time  flies.  It  must  be  more  than  fourteen  years  ago 
since  you  and  I  met  in  Carsdale  church  :  how  well  I  re- 
member the  day ! "     "  And  since  you  talked  to  me  in  aunt 


THE    EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  "  203 

Sarah's  little  back  parlour,"  I  said.  "  And  since  I  made 
acquaintance  with  aunt  Sarah,"  continued  Lady  Emily: 
'•  that  was  a  memorable  day  for  me."  I  did  not  venture 
to  pursue  the  subject ;  something  rose  up  in  my  throat, 
and  nearly  choked  me.  Lately  I  had  felt  as  if  I  could 
scarcely  bear  to  talk  of  aunt  Sarah.  "She  is  looking 
wonderfully  well,"  continued  Lady  Emily  ;  and  then  she 
glanced  at  me,  and  I  felt  that  tears  gathered  in  my  eyes. 
Lady  Emily  pressed  my  hand  affectionately.  "  You  must 
not  forestall  sorrow,  dear  child,"  she  said.  "  Aunt  Sarah 
may  yet  be  spared  to  us  for  years."  "  Yes,  I  know  it ;  I 
do  not  forestall  sorrow  generally,  I  hope ;  but  one  cannot 
shut  one's  eyes  to  facts,  and  one  care  brings  another,  and 
change  must  come."  "  Yes,  to  all  families,"  said  Lady 
Emily;  "that  is  one  thiHg  which  makes  single  life  more 
sad  than  married  life.  The  first  break-up  of  home,  when 
people  marry,  comes  happily  and  hopefully;  when  they  are 
unmarried,  it  is  the  one  long  sorrow  of  life."  "And  so 
much  the  better,  as  aunt  Sarah  would  say,"  I  replied,  for- 
cing myself  to  smile ;  "  the  fewer  ties  to  this  world  the 
better." 

"  If  one  can  bear  to  think  so  ;  but  you  will  bear  it, 
Sarah,  for  you  have  learnt  to  loosen  them  early."  "  I 
cannot  venture  to  say,"  I  replied.  "  It  is  very  well  to 
sit  down  and  think  beforehand  how  one  shall  act,  and 
how  strong-minded  one  shall  be  ;  but  I  suspect  it  will  be 
very  different  when  the  trial  actually  comes.  Besides,  I 
have  ties,  nearer  and  dearer,  I  sometimes  think,  than  they 
ought  to  be ;  or,  at  least,  making  me  more  anxious  than 
they  ought.  My  mother  is  so  very  unable  to  bear  up 
against  sorrow ;  and  the  children, — my  own  two  chil- 
dren," I  added,  with  a  smile, — "  Herbert  and  Hester, — 
it  is  impossible  not  to  think  of  what  their  future  may 
be."  "  They  will  be  sure  to  do  well,"  said  Lady  Emily, 
"  brought  up  as  they  have  been."  "  They  promise  to  do 
well,"  I  answered ;  "  but  I  am  faint-hearted  enough  to 
shrink  from  the  prospect  of  suffering  for  them,  though  I 
think  I  could  bear  it  for  myself  Hester,  especially,  does 
net  look  fitted  to  bear  the  roughnesses  of  the  world,  does 
she  ?  "  "  No,  indeed ;  less  so  than  most  people, — less  than 
my  cousin,  Sophy  Grant,  for  instance," — and  Lady  Emily 


204  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

looked  towards  the  further  end  of  the  room,  where  Hester 
and  her  new  friends  were  together.  Miss  Grant  and  Mr. 
Beresford  were  talking  with  some  animation :  I  fancied 
they  were  having  a  mock  quarrel.  Hester  stood  by,  with 
a  smile  of  amusement  upon  her  lips.  *'  They  always  car- 
ry on  that  kind  of  bantering  conversation,"  observed  Lady 
Emily ;  "  I  wish  they  would  turn  it  into  something  more 
serious."  "  Mr.  Beresford  seems  inclined  to  do  so,"  I 
said, — and  then  I  felt  myself  blush,  with  the  conscious- 
ness of  having  made  a  thoughtless  observation.  But  La- 
dy Emily  was  very  unreserved  upon  the  subject.  "  They 
were  not,"  she  said,  '•  actually  engafged  ;  but  it  was  quite 
evident  they  liked  each  other,  and  it  would  be  a  very  de- 
sirable connection.  They  were  distantly  related,  and 
family,  and  estates,  and  all  worl^y  circumstances  suited. 
It  would  be  a  marriage  approved  on  all  sides.  Not  that 
any  of  those  things  would  weigh  with  me,"  continued  La- 
dy Emily,  "  if  I  did  not  think  them  suited.  But  I  really 
do  believe  they  would  do  each  other  good.  Sophy  is  the 
best  and  steadiest  little  creature  in  the  world,  and  would 
give  him  just  the  firmness  he  wants  ;  and  she  is  an  im- 
mense admirer  of  genius,  which  he  certainly  possesses  ;  so 
one  should  have  reason  to  hope  that  the  two  halves  would 
make  a  perfect  whole.  I  only  wish  she  was  rather  pret- 
tier ;  he  has  such  an  intense  admiration  of  beauty ;  and 
it  makes  him  a  little — I  must  own  the  truth,  though  I 
am  so  fond  of  him — a  very  little  fickle." 

I  was  amused  at  this  information,  which  gave  me  a 
new  subject  of  thought ;  and  I  laughed,  and  told  Lady 
Emily  that,  as  she  had  let  me  into  her  confidence,  I  should 
expect  to  be  kept  fully  informed  of  the  progress  made. 
"  Oh  !  you  will  judge  for  yourself,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  they 
are  both  going  to  stay  with  us.  My  brother  has  been 
promising  us  a  visit  for  the  last  ten  months,  ever  sijiee  he 
came  from  abroad,  where  he  has  been  living  with  an  uncle 
for  I  cannot  tell  how  many  years.  We  have  tempted  him 
at  last  with  the  hope  of  meeting  Sophy ;  and,  indeed,  I 
came  up  to  London  on  purpose  to  chaperone  her  to  Lo- 
wood,  Mrs.  Grant  not  being  able  to  accompany  her.  But 
come,  we  really  must  not  spend  all  our  time  in  talking :  I 
shall  be  closely  cross-questioned  as  to  all  I  have  seen  when 


THE   EXPEDIENCE   OF   LIFE,  205 

I  return  home."  We  walked  round  to  the  different  cabi- 
nets, and  were  soon  joined  by  the  rest  of  the  party.  I 
thought  Miss  Grant  particularly  pleasing ;  her  good  sense 
and  information  were  shown  so  very  simply,  and  Hester, 
I  could  see,  was  strongly  inclined  to  make  friends  with 
her, — showing  her  inclination,  however,  by  teazing  her 
rather  unmercifully  with  questions,  which  brought  out  all 
she  knew,  I  thought  Mr.  Beresford  must  be  struck  with 
Miss  Grant's  superiority  to  the  generality  of  young  ladies 
of  her  age ;  and  he  certainly  listened  to  all  that  went  on 
very  attentively. 

It  was  a  mixture  of  curiosity  and  real  interest  which 
made  me  watch  them  so  much ;  but  the  occupation  of  my 
thoughts  was  certainly  good  for  me:  it  prevented  me  from 
becoming  morbidly  fanciful  about  home. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

An  hour  was  gone  before  I  could  have  imagined  it  possi- 
ble. Lady  Emily  insisted  upon  taking  us  round  by  Har- 
ley-street.  She  was  determined,  she  said,  to  have  as 
much  of  me  as  she  could,  for  she  probably  should  not  see 
me  again  whilst  she  was  in  London,  every  day  having  its 
engagement.  "  But  we  shall  be  together  again,  very  soon, 
at  Lowood,  I  hope,"  she  said,  as  we  parted.  "  I  am  sure 
you  cannot  be  spared  much  longer  from  home."  "  And 
you  must  return  whilst  I  am  there,"  added  Miss  Grant, 
addressing  me,  but  looking  at  Hester.  I  could  scarcely 
restrain  a  smile  at  the  quickness  with  which  the  favour- 
able impression  had  mutually  been  formed.  Hester  looked 
delighted,  and  they  shook  hands  like  the  truest  and  oldest 
friends ;  and  Mr.  Beresford  shook  hands  also,  and  hoped 
to  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  us  again. 

We  found  Caroline  unusually  disturbed  in  mind.  Mr. 
Blair  had  asked  some  gentlemen  to  dinner  unexpectedly; 
and  every  mistress  of  a  house  knows  how  perplexing  and 
irritating  such  a  circumstance  is,  where  sufficient  time  for 
preparation  has  not  been  given. 


206  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

She  scarcely  asked  any  questions  about  our  proceed- 
ings, and  was  annoyed  because  one  of  us  had  not  remained 
at  home  to  go  with  the  children  into  the  park.  It  was 
rather  hard  for  them,  she  said,  on  a  birthday,  not  to  have 
some  special  pleasure.  It  did  not  strike  me  at  the  moment 
why  she  did  not  go  herself.  I  scarcely  know  how  it  was, 
indeed,  but  it  seldom  entered  my  head  that  she  could  put 
herself  out  of  her  way  for  the  children ;  and  yet  she  al- 
ways talked  eagerly  about  them  and  their  pleasures.  I 
went  to  my  room,  reproaching  myself  for  selfishness. 

Hester  came  to  me  before  I  was  dressed  for  dinner, 
full  of  the  pleasure  of  the  morning.  Her  new  friend  was 
really  charming, — so  extremely  clever,  and  so  good-na- 
tured, and  warm-hearted,  and  Mr.  Beresford  admired  her, 
she  was  sure.  He  had  talked,  indeed,  little,  except  in 
that  jesting  way;  but  he  had  listened  most  attentively 
whenever  Miss  Grant  was  speaking.  She  was  enchanted 
at  the  prospect  of  their  being  at  Lowood,  for  Miss  Grant 
knew  all  about  us  ;  and  had  said  that  Lady  Emily  had 
promised  her  some  pleasant  acquaintances  when  she  went 
there.  "  And  that  may — I  think  it  may — have  meant 
me  as  well  as  you,  don't  you,  Sarah  ?  "  she  added,  a  slight 
blush  tinging  her  transparent  complexion.  I  could  not 
help  contrasting  our  appearance,  as  we  stood,  side  by  side, 
before  the  large  glass,  and  thinking  how  singularly  uncon- 
scious she  was  of  her  own  attractions.  But  I  allowed  her 
to  put  me  first,  as  she  always  did :  indeed,  it  would  have 
been  useless  to  try  and  make  it  otherwise.  She  was  so 
fond  of  me  that  I  really  believe  she  saw  beauty  in  me. 

We  dined  rather  later  than  usual,  for  Mr.  Blair  was 
particularly  engaged,  and  Caroline  wished  to  give  the  cook 
sufl&cient  time.  I  sat  in  my  room  reading  and  thinking 
after  Hester  left  me.  The  incidents  of  the  day  had 
cheered  me,  and  I  was  not  inclined  for  any  mournful  pro- 
phecies. My  last  impression  was  of  Hester's  bright,  lov- 
ing face,  and  Lady  Emily's  words  that  she  must  do  well 
in  life.  I  hoped  and  thought  that  after  all  it  might  be  so. 
She  might  marry  happily,  and  so  my  anxiety  about  her 
would  be  at  an  end ;  and  then  I  smiled  at  my  own  incon- 
sistency,— at  the  acknowledgment,  which  I  thus  uncon- 
sciously made,  that  married  life  was  happier  than  single 


THE    EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  gO*? 

Yet  I  did  not  know,  upon  consideration,  that  I  was  incon- 
sistent. I  had  never  said  to  myself  or  to  others  that 
either  state  was  in  itself  happier  or  better  than  the  other, 
— but  only  happier  or  better  as  God  appointed  it  for  indi' 
viduals;  and  it  might  be,  as  regarded  Hester,  that  mar- 
riage would  be  a  good.  She  was  always  learning,  and 
trusting,  and  subject  to  impulses  from  without.  Marriage 
might  give  to  her  what.  Lady  Emily  had  said,  it  would 
give  to  Mr.  Beresford, — firmness.  But  whom  could  she 
marry  ?  whom  should  I  like  her  to  marry  ?  Persons  long 
past  the  thought  of  such  an  event  for  themselves  will 
dwell  upon  it  for  those  they  love.  But  it  is  not  good  or 
wise.  I  went  on  thinking  for  a  long  time,  til]  the  old 
cloud  of  care  came  back,  and  just  then  arrived  the  letters 
of  the  evening  post. 

A  note  in  my  uncle  Ralph's  handwriting  !  I  tore  it 
open. 

'•  My  Dear  Niece. — I  shall  be  in  Harley-street  at  half- 
past  eight  precisely,  and  shall  hope  to  find  you  prepared, 
according  to  notice. 

"  Your  affectionate  Uncle, 
•  "Ralph  Mortimer." 

What  a  most  perplexing  little  document !  I  ran  down 
stairs  to  Caroline.  She  was  in  the  drawing-room  waiting 
the  arrival  of  her  guests.  Her  usual  equanimity  was  re- 
stored— and  she  took  the  note  without  observation — read 
it,  and  said,  coolly,  "  He  is  coming  to  carry  you  back  with 
him."  "  Yes,  I  guessed  that;  but  why?"  ''There  was 
the  opportunity  for  an  escort,  and  they  did  not  like  to 
lose  it,"  said  Caroline.  So  it  might  be,  certainly  ;  but  I 
was  not  satisfied.  It  was  a  London  post-mark.  Uncle 
Ralph  then  was  in  London ;  he  must  have  come  up  yes- 
terday. I  thought  it  very  strange  my  mother  had  not 
given  us  warning  ;  and  who  did  the  "  you  "  mean  ?  Was 
Hester  included  ?  and,  when  were  we  to  go  ?  I  could  not 
help  being  a  little  provoked  with  Caroline,  she  was  so  ex- 
tremely quiet.  I  knew  that  the  circumstance  could  not 
be  much  consequence  to  her  ;  yet  she  saw  I  was  worried, 
and  she  might  have  given  me  a  little  sytnpathy. 


208  .  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 


I  left  her  and  went  to  Hester.  Strange  to  say,  she 
first  put  a  thought  into  my  head  which  frightened  me. 
There  must  be  something  wrong  at  home,  she  said.  This 
sudden  recall  was  so  unlike  my  mother's  consideration. 
I  remember — how  indeed  could  I  ever  forget? — the  hor- 
rible feeling  of  dread  which  came  over  me ;  how  I  rea- 
soned, and  argued  against  it ;  how  I  scolded  Hester  for 
looking  pale ;  how  I  laughed  at  the  spectre  we  had  con- 
jured up  ;  and  yet,  down,  down,  in  the  depths  of  my  heart 
how  the  heavy  load  remained. 

If  it  had  been  any  person  but  uncle  Ralph,  I  might 
have  cared  less ;  but  the  old  childish  fear  still  lingered. 
Hester  sjiid  we  ought  to  think  of  packing ;  but  there  was 
no  time  before  dinner ;  and  it  seemed  foolish  to  trouble 
ourselves  about  it  till  we  knew  more.  I  could  not  bear 
the  thought  of  the  party ;  it  seemed  as  if  I  must  sij;  alone 
and  think ;  but  I  made  Hester  go  down  into  the  drawing- 
room,  and  toU  her  I  would  follow.  Soon  afterwards, 
however,  Reginald  came  to  my  room,  and  Vaughan  with 
him.  Vaughan  was  going  to  dine  in  Harley-street,  and 
had  come,  he  said,  to  have  a  gossip  with  me  before  dinner. 
I  was  glad  to  think  he  could  have  any  pleasure  in  being 
with,  me,  and  let  him  rattle  on  with  Regiftald  as  they  liked. 
They  did  not  in  the  least  share  my  anxiety.  Uncle  Ralph, 
they  declared,  was  thinking  he  was  writing  to  a  clerk,  and 
took  it  for  granted  I  should  do  as  I  was  told,  without 
wanting  explanations.  As  for  dreading  the  sight  of  him, 
they  had  passed  beyond  that  age  now,  they  were  happy  to 
say ;  and  then  they  rambled  off  to  a  number  of  absurd 
reminiscences  of  their  early  days,  and  Reginald's  horror 
of  his  Bank  visits.-  "  If  you  are  going  home  to-morrow, 
Sarah,"  said  Reginald,  "I  venture  to  say  that  you  have 
aunt  Colston  and  Horatia  to  travel  with  you."  ''Aunt 
Colston  is  at  Hastings,"  I  said.  "No,  begging  your  par- 
don, she  is  in  London.  I  saw  a  note  from  her  to  Mr. 
Blair  only  this  afternoon,  mentioning  that  she  was  pass- 
ing through  London,  on  her  way  to  Carsdale.  There  will 
be  a  treat  for  you  ! "  "  Our  venerated  and  venerable  uncle, 
and  our  respected  and  most  respectable  aunt,"  exclaimed 
Vaughan,  "what  a  pity  they  don't  make  a  match."  "My 
dear  Vaughan,"  I  said,  trying  to  keep  my  countenance, 
"I  really  will  not  have  you  talk  bo;  it  makes  me  think 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  209 

you  neither  venerable  nor  respectable."  "Besides,  it  is 
doing  uncle  Ralph  such  injustice,  in  the  way  of  taste,"  ob- 
served Reginald.  '•  If  you  had  said  our  cousin  Horatia, 
instead  of  our  aunt  Colston,  it  would  have  been  nearer 
the  mark."  Vaughan  actually  shouted  with  delight  at  the 
idea.  "  Well !  I  would  give  something  to  see  that !  Ho- 
ratia G-ray  and  uncle  Ralph !  Wouldn't  I  go  to  the  wed- 
ding ! "  "  Young  Celadon  and  his  Amelia  !  a  matchless  pair  !" 
said  Reginald,  not  allowing  a  muscle  of  his  countenance  to 
move.  "  I  really  wish  you  would  not  put  such  absurd  no- 
tions into  one's  head,  Reginald,".  I  said  ;  "  they  are  always 
remembered  aff  some  awkward  moment,  and  then  one  is  sure 
to  do  or  say  something,  one  ought  not."  "  I  don't  see  why 
it  is  absurd,"  replied  Reginald,  as  he  took  up  the  note, 
and  examined  it  carefully ;  and  then,  drawing  out  a  pocket 
book,  looked  at  a  memorandum  in  it :  — "  33  Mortimer 
St.  Mrs.  Montague  Colston's  address, —  now  then;" 
and  he  pointed  to  my  uncle's  date,  "  33  Mortimer  St. 
Mr.  Ralph  Mortimer's  address,  —  corroborative  evi- 
dence at  least."  Just  for  the  moment,  I  was  startled ; 
but  it  was  nonsense  to  build  so  weighty  a  belief  upon 
such  a  trifle.  I  merely  said  that  "  nothing  could  be  more 
natural  than  that  the  same  business  should  have  brought 
them  both  to  town,  and  that  they  should  have  met  in  the 
same  house."  "Well !  well !  we  shall  see."  answered  Reg- 
inald, looking  very  oracular.  "People  who  live  in  Lon- 
don town  see  more  than  people  who  live  in  country  town, 
that's  all."  "  Come,  Sarah,  we  will  have  a  bet  upon  the 
subject,"  said  Yaughan:  "five  shillings."  "To  be  paid 
in  white  gloves  on  the  wedding  day,"  continued  Reginald. 
I  laughed,  and  told  them  I  never  laid  bets,  and  if  I  did, 
it  should  not  be  upon  so  senseless  a  subject ;  and  just 
then  the  dinner  bell  rang,  and  wo  went  down  stairs. 

It  was  a  very  senseless  subject,  certainly ;  far  too 
senseless  to  be  remembered  for  ten  minutes  together  ; 
yet  it  quite  fastened  itself  upon  me.  I  do  not  know  that 
I  am  particularly  superstitious  ;  but  uncle  Ralph  and 
Horatia  had  always  seemed  to  me  my  evil  geniuses.  To 
have  their  names  coupled,  even  in  jest,  was  odious  to 
me.  But  it  was  in  jest,  undoubtedly,  for  what  sympathy 
or  congeniality  could  there  be  between  a  merry,  dashing, 
independent  mannered  woman,  like  Horatia,  and  a  prim. 


210  THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE. 

soft-spoken  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  like  my  uncle . 
I  scolded  myself  for  my  folly,  and  began  to  talk  diligently 
to  my  next  neighbour  ;  but,  although  I  succeeded  at  last 
in  banishing  Reginald's  ludicrous  idea,  I  did  not  banish 
the  painful  impression  of  impending  evil.  Time  went  on, 
and  the  dinner  went  on  also  ;  fish  and  soup,  and  entremets^ 
and  the  ^'- piece  de  resistance "  only  equalled  in  mass- 
iveness  by  the  figure  of  Mr.  Blair  behinjd  it ;  and  there 
was  much  talking  of  bank  stock,  and  consols,  and  lucky 
speculations,  with  a  few  observations  upon  politics,  as 
connected  with  mercantile  safety.  The  gentlemen  on 
each  side  of  me,  after  paying  me  the  necessary  attentions, 
joined  in  the  whirl  of  conversation,  and  I  was  left  to  eat, 
to  think,  to  dream. 

It  did  appear  to  me  a  dream ;  those  mingled  voices, 
— those  words  of  deepest  interest, — those  eager  faces 
round  the  long  table  ;  with  the  glittering  silver,  and  glass, 
and  the  dazzling  lights.  Were  they  dreaming,  or  was  1 1 
Were  we  beings  of  one  world  or  of  two  ?  Had  the  things 
I  saw  about  me  any  value,  or  were  they  mere  phantasms, 
tinsel,  delusions  ?  What  was  this  existence,  about  which 
all  were  so  eager  ? — what  did  it  mean  ? — what  was  its  ob- 
ject? I  thought  till  my*  senses  grew  dizzy;  and  then 
another  idea  possessed  me ;  one  which  had  often  pressed 
upon  me ; — that  we  all  must  have  a  certain  number  of 
words  to  say  in  our  lives,  and  that  every  time  we  spoke 
the  number  grew  less  ;  and  I  listened  to  the  quick  conver- 
sation with  a  feeling  of  terror,  as  if  the  very  accents  of 
our  lips  were  the  summons  to  eternity. 

There  was  a  peculiarly  share,  ringing  clock  in  the 
house  ;  it  marked  the  hours  with  chimes.  It  was  at  some 
distance  from  the  dining-room,  but  I  heard  its  clear 
sounds  above  all  the  tumult  of  voices.  Half-past  eight ! 
Caroline  remarked  the  time.  I  heard  her  tell  one  of  the 
servants  to  light  the  candles  in  the  drawing-room,  and 
when  Mr.  Mortimer  arrived  to  say  she  would  be  with  him 
immediately.  And  the  conversation  continued  as  before,' 
and  the  knock  and  the  ring  came,  and  some  one  went  up 
stairs,  and  Caroline  looked  at  me  and  smiled^  and  said, 
^  Shall  we  go,  Sarah  ? "  and  we  walked  out  of  the  room 
to  all  appearance  unconcernedly. 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  211 

Uncle  Ralph  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  door 
of  the  drawing-room  :  he  turned  round  slowly.  His  bland 
(Smile  was  there,  yet  his  look  was  strange.  "  I — I — "  it 
was  almost  the  first  time  in  his  life  we  had  ever  heard 
him  hesitate  ;  "  I  hope  you  are  ready,"  and  he  looked  at 
our  evening  dresses  with  some  surprise.  "  Ready  for  to- 
morrow, if  you  wish  it,"  said  Caroline ;  "  but  can't  they 
be  spared  longer  ?  "  My  uncle's  eye  glanced  quickly  from 
one  to  the  other,  I  saw  there  was  a  mystery,  but  before 
I  could  speak,  Hester  had  caught  his  arm.  and  entreated 
to  be  told  the  worst.  "  Not  the  worst,  my  dear  niece  ; 
sit  down,  compose  yourself"  He  placed  her  on  the  sofa; 
the  moments  seemed  ages.  "  Is  any  thing  the  matter  at 
East  Side  ?  "  asked  Caroline  deliberately.  "  Nothing  ma- 
terial, nothing,  we  hope,  material ;  but  surely  Joanna  has 
written."  "  Oh,  no,  no  ;  if  you  would  only  tell  us  !  only 
put  us  out  of  suspense ! "  I  exclaimed ;  and  Hester 
clasped  her  hands  tightly  together,  and  her  face  became  of 
a  deadly  paleness.  "  There  has  been  a  mistake,"  said  my 
uncle.  "  Joanna  told  me  she  had  enclosed  a  note  for  you 
in  one  she  wrote  to  Miss  Gray,  which  I  gave  her  this 
morning.  .  Miss  Gray  was  to  send  it  to  you."  "  But 
what  have  you  to  tell  ?  Is  my  father  ill  ?  "  It  was  Car- 
oline's question,  for  I  literally  could  not  find  words  to 
utter.  "  He  has  had  a  severe  attack,  undoubtedly,  aris- 
ing, the  doctors  say,  from  determination  of  blood  to  the 
head.  We  must  hope,  though,  that  he  will  rally  ;  for 
such  attacks  often  pass  off." 

"  And  my  sisters  are  to  go  down  to-night  ?  "  said  Caro- 
line, with  her  wonted  quick,  cool  thought,  seeing  the  whole 
case  in  a  moment.  '•  To-»ght,  by  the  mail,  I  hoped.  I 
came  up  by  the  mail  last  night ;  having  business  to  trans- 
act for  Mrs,  Colston  to-day,  the  arrangement  was  a  con- 
venient one."  I  sat  down  by  Hester,  and  put  my  arm 
round  her,  and  whispered  to  her  to  rouse  herself,  and,  turn- 
ing to  my  uncle,  forced  myself  to  ^k  the  question  I 
dreaded  to  have  answered.  '"  Was  my  father  in  sense  ?  " 
"  Not  yet,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  but  the  doctors  had  said  there 
was  every  prospect  of  amendment."  The  words  had  hope 
in  them  for  every  one  else  ;  they  had  none  for  me.  "  Come, 
Hester,"  I  said,  "  we  must  go  up  stairs  and  pack  ; "  and  she 
followed  me  like  a  child. 


212  THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE. 

We  collected  our  things,  and  arranged  them  in  hasto 
Dawson,  Caroline's  maid,  helped  us.  Caroline  herself  re 
mained  down  stairs  to  make  tea  for  my  uncle.  Now  and 
then  we  made  some  observations  about  the  packing,  or  left 
necessary  messages  and  orders.  Hester  cried  bitterly ; 
but  I  had  no  tears,  only  the  heavy,  heavy  weight  upon  my 
brain,  which  made  me  feel  as  if  the  least  eflfort  at  thought 
was  impossible. 

"We  did  not  go  again  into  the  drawing-room.  When 
our  trunks  were  ready  we  went  into  the  nursery,  and  kissed 
the  children,  and  then  we  sat  down  in  my  bed-room  till  the 
hackney-coach  which  had  been  ordered  should  arrive.  I 
thought  how  Hester  would  bear  the  journey,  and  I  sent 
Dawson  to  ask  Caroline  if  she  might  have  some  biscuits 
put  up  for  her,  and  if  she  would  lend  her  a  warm  shawl ; 
there  was  a  little  relief  in  thinking  about  her  comfort,  and 
something  of  the  horrible  weight  for  the  moment  passed 
away. 

"  The  coach  is  at  the  door,  dears,"  said  Caroline,  enter- 
ing the  room.  She  was  much  softened,  and  her  eyes 
glistened.  I  kissed  her  passionately  ;  I  felt  as  if  I  must 
take  her,  as  if  I  must  take  them  all  with  me.  "  We  shall 
hear  by  to-morrow's  post,"  said  Caroline.  "  Reginald  and 
Vaughan  will  go  down  if  the  accounts  are  not  better." 
"  And  you  ?  "  "I  shall  wait  till  you  let  me  know  more.  I 
could  be  no  good,  I  am  afraid."  The  chill  was  upon  my 
heart  again,  and  I  hurried  away.  Mr.  Blair  and  my  bro- 
thers were  in  the  hall.  Vaughan  was  very  much  over- 
come ;  he  could  scarcely  speak.  Reginald  was  careful  to 
remind  us,  if  we  wrote  to  him,  to  direct  to  the  office,  and 
not  to  Harley-street.  We  werffiianded  into  the  coach  by 
Mr.  Blair,  and  in  another  minute  we  were  rattling  through 
the  bustling,  lighted  streets,  on  our  way  to  the  inn  where 
we  were  to  meet  the  coach.  My  uncle  had  taken  the  pre- 
caution to  secure  our  places,  which  was  fortunate,  for  the 
coach  was  very  fuU :  and  two  persons  were  turned  away. 
The  only  vacant  seat  in  the  inside  was  occupied  by  a  gen- 
tleman, who  wrapped  himself  in  a  cloak,  and  hid  his  face, 
and  slept  nearly  the  whole  night.  I  slept,  too,  at  times, 
if  that  can  be  called  sleep  which  was  a  maze  of  waking 
thoughts,  incoherently  mingled.  I  felt  that  the  great 
trial  of  my  life  was  near ;  and  my  mind  plunged  forward 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  213 

desperately  into  the  future,  and  then  recoiling  with  terror, 
found  its  rest  and  its  safety  in  prayer.  How  thankful  I 
was  then  that  I  could  pray  ! — that  I  had  learnt  to  pray  at 
all  moments  and  under  all  circumstances.  Even  in  my 
half-dreamy  state,  the  habit  remained  as  if  it  were  instinct, 
and  I  found  myself  waking  from  my  short  and  troubled 
attempts  at  forgetfulness  with  the  words  of  the  Lord's 
Prayer  filling  my  mind,  and  suggesting  thoughts  of  com- 
fort and  trust.  It  was  a  stormy  night ;  the  wind  whistled 
and  howled,  and  torrents  of  rain  beat  against  the  windows 
and  plashed  heavily  upon  the  pavement,  as  we  stopped  at 
the  different  towns  to  change  horses.  We  were  wet  even 
in  passing  from  the  coach  tor  the  long,  dingy  room  of  the 
inn,  at  which  we  were  to  remain  for  about  twenty  minutes 
and  hav^  coffee  and  refreshments.  A  supper  Was  prepared 
there.  The  other  passengers  sat  down  at  the  table,  and 
ate  and  drank  heartily ;  and  there  was  an  overpowering 
smell  of  brandy-and-water.  and  a  good  deal  of  vulgar  talk- 
ing, and  laughing,  and  scolding  the  waiter ;  and  Hester 
looked  distressed,  and  begged  that  we  might  go  into  a 
room  by  ourselves ;  but  there  was  no  fire  in  any  other 
apartment,  and  I  was  afraid  that  her  dress  was  damp,  so  I 
made  her  stand  by  the  fire,  and  we  ordered  some  coffee ; 
and  my  uncle  said  it  was  comfortable  and  pleasant,  and 
then  Hester  put  down  her  cup,  and  the  tears  came  faster 
than  ever.  We  were  in  the  coach  again,  hurrying  on,  by 
dark,  heavy  masses  of  trees,  which  gave  a  deeper  darkness 
to  the  night;  and  long  lines  of  hedges,  scarcely  to  be 
traced,  except  when  a  faint  gleam  from  the  crescent  moon 
struggled  through  the  stormy  clouds  ;  and  by  lone,  still 
cottages,  and-  villages  and  towns,  solemn  and  death-like ; 
and  when  the  cold,  blue  light  of  morning  gleamed  in  the 
far  horizon,  and  the  forms  of  the  trees  and  hedges  were 
distinguished  by  a  misty  outline,  and  the  sharp,  chill  wind 
made  us  draw  our  cloaks  about  us,  I  saw  that  we  were 
within  about  twelve  miles  of  Carsdale.  I  thought  then 
that  I  must  watch  every  turn  in  the  road,  and  count  the 
milestones,  and  satisfy  my  eagerness  by  anticipation ;  but 
the  weariness  of  the  long  night  won  the  victory,  and  when, 
at  length,  we  drove  into  Carsdale,  I  had  forgotten  all  my 
cares  in  overpowering  sleep. 


214  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LITE. 

My  uncle  had  suggested  that  we  should  go  to  his  house 
and  have  breakfast,  and  drive  over  to  East  Side  after- 
wards ;  but  this  I  would  not  hear  of :  a  carriage  was 
therefore  ordered  for  us  immediately.  One  ray  of  com- 
fort met  us  in  the  information  given  by  tho  waiter  at  the 
Red  Lion,  where  the  coach  stopped.  He  had  heard,  the 
previous  evening,  that  Captain  Mortimer  was  not  worse. 
This  my  uncle  declared  was  all  that  we  could  expect,  and 
he  cast  ofif  his  look  of  care  in  consequence. 

"  The  heavy  trunk  must  be  sent  over  by  the  carrier," 
he  said,  as  we  stepped  into  the  post-chaise,  which  was  the 
principal  vehicle  then  for  hire  in  Carsdale.  **  Yes,  Sir, 
you  may  depend  upon  it."  '•  And  send  word  to  the  Bank 
that  I  am  returned,"  continued  my  uncle.  "  Stay,  I  think 
I  had  better  write  a  note  ;"  and  he  went  back  again  into 
the  inn  and  wrote  a  message  to  his  clerk,  whilst  we  waited, 
leaning  back  in  the  carriage,  and  trying  to  hide  ourselves 
from  the  gaze  of  the  few  passers-by  who  were  to  be  seen  at 
that  early  hour  in  the  streets. 

"  Will  he  never  come  ?  "  said  Hester  to  me,  in  a  hollow 
voice.  She  looked  worn  out  with  fatigue.  "  Patience," 
was  my  answer  ;  but  I  could  scarcely  feel  patient.  Per- 
haps I  did  him  injustice,  and  his  business  really  was  im- 
portant. But  he  came  at  last,  and  was  quite  in  spirits,  as 
he  said  himself,  when  he  patted  Hester  on  the  shoulder, 
and  told  her  she  must  cheer  up,  or  they  would  think  she 
was  sorry  to  leave  London.  He  talked  the  whole  way,  and 
principally  about  aunt  Colston  and  Horatia.  but  I  scarcely 
knew  a  word  he  said,  and  did  not  remember  the  subject  till 
afterwards. 

We  drove  up  to  the  house  through  the  fields,  which 
my  father  had  taken  so  much  trouble  to  plant, — which  per- 
haps he  would  never  see  again.  The  place  looked  very 
quiet  and  lonely ;  the  storm  was  over,  and  the  sunshine 
was  flickering  upon  the  lawn,  and  making  the  rain-drops 
glitter  ;  and  the  mists  were  floating  heavily  away,  discover- 
ing the  beautiful  wooded  country  beyond  Carsdale,  with 
the  silvery  line  of  the  river  winding  through  the  valley. 
But  it  was  a  beauty  I  could  not  feel.  We  passed  the  iron 
gate,  which  swung  to  with  a  melancholy  sound,  and  our 
approach  was  announced  by  the  bark  of  the  old  house-dog 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   I.IFE.  213 

m  Ms  kennel,  silenced  directly  by  the  gardener  in  an  under 
voice.  Then,  as  we  drew  near,  the  carriage  stopped  at  a 
little  distance  from  the  house,  because  there  was  a  pole 
placed  across  the  road  to  prevent  it  from  going  further. 

I  looked  up  at  the  front  of  the  house  ;  all  the  blinds 
were  down,  but  that  might  well  be  so  early  in  the  morn- 
ing. "  We  will  go  round  to  the  back  door,"  said  Hester  ; 
and  we  stole  round  as  noiselessly  as  possible,  and  made 
our  way  into  the  kitchen.  Nurse  was  there  preparing 
some  arrow-root  over  the  fire.  The  saucepan  fell  to  the 
ground,  as  she  saw  us.  "  Miss  Sarah  !  Miss  Hester  !  thank 
heaven, you  are  come."  "  Is  he  a  great  deal  worse? — tell 
us  all  at  once,"  we  fexclaimed.  "  He  has  had  another  fit," 
was  the  reply.  My  uncle  turned  away  and  left  us.  Hester 
seemed  quite  overwhelmed  ;  for  myself,  after  the  first  sharp 
pang,  I  did  not  know  that  I  felt  anything.  I  made  nurse 
give  us  all  the  details.  The  evening  before  he  had  seemed 
better,  and  the  doctor  had  spoke  more  cheerfully ;  but 
about  three  hours  ago  another  fit  had  come  on.  He  had 
rallied  again,  but  a  third  attack  they  said  would  carry 
him  oflf. 

Carry  him  off ! — where  ?  I  thanked  God  there  was  no 
terror  in  the  question.  I  asked  for  my  mother.  My 
anxiety  was  almost  greater  for  her  than  for  him.  She 
would  not  leave  him,  nurse  said.  Just  then  she  was  lying 
down  in  his  room,  and  Joanna  was  with  him.  He  was 
not  sensible.  He  had  not  been  sensible  from  the  begin- 
ning, except  for  a  short  time  the  day  before  when  he  had 
asked  for  us,  and  wished  we  were  at  home.  The  callous 
feeling  was  gone.  I  burst  into  tears,  and  then  I  was 
better. 

Hester  wished  to  see  him  at  once,  but  I  insisted  upon 
her  going  to  bed.  We  could  not  disturb  my  mother  when 
rest  was  so  precious  to  her,  and,  from  all  accounts,  there 
was  no  immediate  cause  for  alarm.  I  said,  also,  that  I 
would  lie  down  myself,  and  that  nurse  should  get  us  some 
breakfast.  It  did  not  seem  that  it  would  be  possible 
either  to  sleep  or  eat ;  but  one  thing  was  certain,  that  if 
we  did  not,  we  should  be  utterly  useless.  Hester  fortu- 
nately was  obedient  to  me  now  as  in  the  days  of  her 
childhood.     If  it  had  not  been  so  I  should  scarcely  have 


'216  THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIPE. 

persuaded  her  to  do  what  was  absolutely  necessary  for  her 
health ;  but  she  consented,  upon  the  promise  of  being 
called  if  there  was  the  slightest  change. 

I  waited  for  more  than  an  hour,  trying  to  sleep,  and 
then  I  became  so  nervous  that  I  could  not  bear  to  be 
alone,  and  stealing  gently  through  Hester's  room,  I  went 
down  stairs  to  my  father's  chamber.  My  mother  and 
Joanna  were  standing  by  the  bed,  both  looking  fearfully 
haggard,  and  my  mother's  eye  had  a  fixed  stare,  which 
shocked  me  far  more  than  illness.  Joanna  kissed  me,  and 
cried,  and  said  she  wafs  very  thankful  I  was  come.  My 
mother  suffered  me  to  kiss  her,  but  she  did  not  speak.  It 
was  not  strange  to  me.  One  glance  at  the  wreck  of  a 
few  hours  almost  paralysed  me.  "  He  was  better  yester- 
day," said  Joanna.  I  could  make  no  answer.  Death  was 
written  on  every  feature. 

It  would  be  useless  and  most  painful  to  recall  all  the 
trying  scenes  of  those  next  few  hours.  Though  years 
have  since  past  away,  the  keenness  of  their  anguish  has 
outlived  time  and  change,  sorrows  and  joys.  I  dare  not 
go  over  them  in  detail.  My  father  never  woke  to  con- 
sciousness again.  He  did  not  suffer, — so  at  least  we  were 
assured  by  those  who  attended  him, — but  it  was  very  ter- 
rible to  watch  the  appearance  of  agony.  It  was  far  too 
much  for  my  mother;  but  she  would  remain  with  him, 
and  we  could  not  persuade  her  to  take  rest  or  food.  He 
lingered  all  that  day,  growing  gradually  weaker  and 
weaker.  About  twelve  o'clock,  Joanna  went  to  her  room, 
utterly  exhausted,  and  I  wrote  the  necessary  letters,  and 
then  made  Hester  take  my  place,  and  went  myself  into 
the  garden,  and  even  tried  to  lie  down  again  and  sleep. 
One  thing  I  had  long  before  determined  upon,  that  when 
I  should  be  called  upon  to  take  part  in  such  scenes  of  trial, 
I  would  never  allow  myself  to  add  to  them  by  self-neglect. 
It  was  not  sleep  that  I  had,  but  it  was  something  like  it 
and  it  enabled  me  to  go  to  Joanna  afterwards,  and  give  her 
comfort,  and  receive  comfort  in  return.  The  great  burden 
had  fallen  upon  her,  for  Herbert  was  away,  on  a  visit  to  a 
friend ;  and  she,  so  it  seemed,  was  the  least  able  to  bear 
it.  The  first  attack,  she  told  me,  was  sudden,  as  he  was 
Bitting,  after   dinner,  the   evening  before  the  last.     My 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  217 

mother  had  sent  instantly  for  my  uncle,  and  settled  that 
he  should  go  up  to  London  for  us  by  that  night's  mail ; 
but  my  father  was  somewhat  recovered  before  he  started, 
and  ])r.  Blair  had  given  a  more  favourable  report.  In 
the  hurry  of  the  moment  Joanna  had  forgotten  to  put  up 
the  note  which  was  to  have  been  sent  to  us  the  next 
morning,  to  tell  us  all  that  had  happened.  My  uncle, 
Joanna  said,  had  done  all  that  was  absolutely  necessary  ; 
but  he  had  insisted  upon  his  business  and  his  engagementa 
so  strongly,  that  if  he  had  not  actually  intended  to  go  to 
town,  she  did  not  think  they  could  have  asked  him  to  put 
himself  out  of  his  way.  He  it  was  who  had  persuaded 
my  mother  not  to  send  for  Vaughan,  and  Reginald,  and 
Caroline,  saying,  that  the  illness  was  most  probably  merely 
temporary ;  but  she  had  herself  written  to  Herbert,  and 
had  no  doubt  that  he  would  return  immediately.  My 
mother,  she  added,  had  been  very  sanguine  at  first,  but  the 
second  attack  had  completely  upset  her  ;  she  had  not  been 
at  all  like  herself  since.  "  And  my  father," — it  was  the 
question  I  was  most  anxious  to  have  answered, — "  in  his 
intervals  of  consciousness,  did  he  know  his  own  state  ? " 
"  Yes,  perfectly,"  Joanna  said  ;  "  his  articulation  was  im- 
perfect, but  his  reason  was  quite  clear.  My  mother  had 
read  prayers  to  him,  and  he  had  made  her  -understand 
that  he  should  like  to  see  Mr.  Miller,  the  clergyman  of 
the  parish."  "  And  did  he  see  him  ?  "  "No  ;  Mr.  Miller 
was  out  when  he  was  sent  for,  and  before  he  arrived,  the 
second  attack  had  come  on." 

And  such  were  the  chances  of  preparation  upon  a 
death-bed  !  Joanna's  next  words  were  the  best, — the  only 
comfort  I  could  at  that  moment  have  desired.  "  Poor 
mamma  thinks  he  had  a  foreboding  of  illness.  Last  Sun- 
day was  the  Communion-Sunday ;  and  when  we  all  came 
back,  he  walked  round  the  garden  with  her,  and  said  how 
thankful  he  was  to  have  had  the  opportunity  of  going, 
and  how  differently  he  thought  about  that,  and  about  all 
things  of  the  kind  now,  to  what  he  used  to  do.  And  then 
she  said  he  would  talk  about  the  future ;  and  he  told  her 
he  meant  to  have  some  arrangements  made  with  uncle 
Ralph,  which  he  hoped  would  make  us  all  more  indepen- 
dent, if  any  thing  happened  to  him.  Mamma  was  a  little 
10 


218  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE 

sad  after  the  conversation,  and  Herbert  and  I  remarked 
it,  but  she  assures  us  there  was  nothing  more  than  usual 
to  make  her  so  ;  and  papa  himself  was  quite  cheerful " 

I  was  relieved  to  hear  that ;  whatever  troubles  .might 
be  in  store  for  us,  I  was  thankful  that  he  should  be  spared 
the  pain  of  dwelling  upon  them. 

Herbert  came  in  the  course  of  the  morning.  It  was 
a  great  comfort  to  have  him  with  us.  Young  though  he 
was,  he  had  the  thought  and  consideration  of  a  man.  My 
mother,  too,  was  a  little  roused  by  seeing  him ;  she  had 
learnt  lately  to  depend  a  good  deal  upon  him,  and  he 
could  do  more  with  her  than  almost  any  one.  He  per- 
suaded her  to  walk  once  round  the  garden  with  him,  but 
she  would  not  talk.  Uncle  Ralph  was  backwards  and  for- 
wards once  or  twice  during  the  day,  but  he  was  always  in 
a  hurry.  He  told  us  that  we  ought  to  write  to  aunt  Col- 
ston and  Horatia,  and  hasten  their  coming,  for  they  were  to 
return  almost  immediately  to  the  cottage.  Joanna  and  Hes- 
ter objected  strongly,  and  said  that  it  would  worry  my  mo- 
ther ;  but  she  was  not  in  a  state  to  be  disturbed  by  any  per- 
son's presence  or  absence,  and  I  was  anxious  to  avoid  any 
thing  like  the  appearance  of  a  slight ;  so  I  wrote  a  note  to  my 
aunt  myself,  and,  as  it  was  rather  late,  sent  Herbert  into 
Carsdale  with  it,  and  told  him  to  go  and  see  aunt  Sarah. 
I  longed,  I  cannot  say  how  much,  to  go  with  him.  One 
quarter  of  an  hour's  conversation  with  her  would  have 
been  an  inexpressible  relief;  there  were  so  many,  many 
things  which  I  could  have  said  to  her,  and  to  no  one  else  in 
the  world. 

He  brought  me  back  a  few  lines  from  Miss  Cole.  Aunt 
Sarah  was  very  anxious  and  distressed,  and  had  had  a  bad 
night,  and  could  not  write  herfelf ;  yet  there  was  a  line 
in  pencil  at  the  bottom :  "  The  God  of  the  fatherless  bless 
my  child,  and  give  her  comfort ;  so  prays  her  great  aunt 
Sarah." 

We  had  no  regular  dinner  that  day.  There  was  no 
one  to  think  about  it ;  but  as  it  grew  dusk,  and  my  father 
was  a  little  less  restless,  Herbert  and  I  had  some  coffee  to- 
gether in  the  drawing-room,  and  sat  there  for  about  half 
an  hour  conversing.  We  spoke  very  calmly  of  the  future 
—what  our  prospects  were,  and  what  we  should  all  do. 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  219 

There  was  nothing  we  could  not  talk  about,  except  the 
one  great  trial.  The  most  painful  subjects, — separation, 
poverty,  humiliation, — were  all  brought  forward  ;  we  had 
no  fear  of  distressing  each  other.  He  was  prepared,  as  I 
was,  for  any  difficulties.  The  obstacles  in  the  way  of  his 
education  had  suggested  them  long  before,  and  some  hints 
given  by  my  uncle  Ralph  had  confirmed  his  fear.  I  was 
very  sorry  for  him  at.  first, — more  so  than  for  any  one 
else,  except  my  mother, — but,  after  a  few  minutes'  con- 
versation, I  felt  as  if  there  was  no  cause  to  grieve.  He 
was  so  entirely  contented,  so  simply  trusting,  and  with  it 
all  so  energetic,  I  felt  that  a  blessing  must  attend  him. 
If  he  could  only  save  my  mother  from  suffering,  all  would 
be  well.  On  one  point  we  were  both  agreed — that,  as  far 
as  any  authority  was  left  with  us,  we  would  no  longer 
have  any  mysteries.  If  poverty  was  our  lot,  we  would 
face  it ;  how,  we  could  not  foresee,  but  we  were  sure  that 
a  way  would  be  opened  to  us. 

These  were»Herbert's  last  words  of  consolation  to  me, 
as  he  rose  to  go  up-stairs  ;  but  still  he  lingered,  letning  his 
head  upon  the  mantel- piece,  and  I  stood  by  him,  with  my 
arm  upon  his  shoulder,  wondering  that  I  could  feel  such 
confidence  in  one  who,  but  a  few  years  before,  I  had  my- 
self taught  and  guided.  So  we  remained  for  some  mo- 
ments,— silent  and  listening  to  silence, — the  room,  with 
its  deep  crimson  paper  growing  darker  and  darker  in  the 
twilight,  and  only  an  occasional  gleam  from  the  nearly  ex- 
tinct fire,  giving  form  to  the  furniture.  And  I  bent  down 
and  kissed  him,  and  felt  the  scalding  tears  which  were 
rolling  down  his  cheek, — and  the  burden  grew  heavier 
upon  my  own  heart,  for  what  would  I  not  have  borne  to 
spare  him  sorrow  ? 

There  was  a  gentle  step  upon  the  staircase, — in  the 
passage, — a  pause, — and  a  soft  voice  said,  "  Sarah."  Her- 
bert and  I  went  to  the  door.  A  lamp  was  burning  on  a 
table  in  the  hall :  its  light  fell  upon  Hester's  face.  I 
think  she  said,  "  Come ;"  but  oulf  eyes  met,  and  we  did 
not  need  words. 

He  died  half  an  hour  afterwards.  God  supported  both 
him  and  us. 


220  THE   EXPERIEI^CE   OF   LIFE. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Yes,  my  mother  was  supported :  if  slie  had  not  been, 
she  could  not  have  lived.     Those  were  mournful,  horrible 

They  came, — all  of  them, — -Yaughan,  Reginald,  Caro- 
line, Mr.  Blair,  Horatia  Gray, — all  but  aunt  Colston,  who 
was  not  strong  enough,  they  said,  to  bear  the  trial.  They 
came  to  show  love  and  respect,  and  they  looked  sad,  and 
sometimes  shed  tears  ;  and  then  they  walked  round  the  gar- 
den, and  talked  ;  and  the  days  were  long,  and  they  tried  to 
read,  but  shut  up  their  books  when  Hester,  or  I,  or  Joan- 
na came  into  the  room.  My  uncle  Ralph  was  with  us  a 
great  deal,  and  advised,  and  ordered,  I  dared  not  ask 
what ;  but  Herbert  said  to  me,  that,  if  I  would  only  keep 
away  with  my  mother,  I  might  trust  all  to  him.  So  it 
was  all  done, — that  fearful  a//, — and  Hester  and  I  stole 
unnoticeod  into  the  darkened  room,  day  by  day,  and  knelt 
by  the  bedside,  and  prayed  in  sil^ce,  and,  drawing  aside 
the  white  covering,  looked  upon  the  pale  face,  rigid  in  its 
deep  peace,  and  then  gave  the  kiss  which  never  could  be 
returned,  and  went  away,  feeling  as  if  we  had  never  known 
before  how  dear  we  were  to  each  other. 

My  mother  saw  scarcely  any  one  except  Herbert  and 
myself.  In  the  morning,  and  at  night,  indeed,  the  others 
went  to  kiss  her,  but  she  could  not  bear  any  thing  like 
conversation.  Caroline  was  bent  upon  rousing  her,  and 
this  I  knew  she  could  not  bear ;  Joanna  was  really  unwell, 
and  had  not  the  strength,  either  of  mind  or  body,  to  en- 
able her  to  give  comfort ;  and  I  was  afraid  for  Hester  to 
be  too  much  with  her ;  for  she  was  so  young  and  excitable, 
that  I  knew  she  would  suffer  afterwards,  however  she  might 
try  to  keep  up  at  the  time. 

It  was  better  for  me,  I  dare  say,  to  be  obliged  to  do 
what  I  did,  though  at  times  the  oppression  seemed  almost 
more  than  I  could  endure.  But  it  was  quietness  and 
stillness,  and  gave  me  occupation  without  bodily  fatigue. 
I  used  to  sit  in  my  mother's  room  nearly  all  day,  reading 
to  myself,  or  to  her,  first  the  psalm  and  lessons  for  the 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  221 

day,  and  tten  other  psalms,  or  very  often  chapters  from 
the  Book  of  Job.  She  used  to  vex  herself  that  she  could 
not  attend  ;  but  I  saw  that  even  the  sound,  the  exquisite 
poetry,  was,  unconsciously,  soothing  to  her;  and  it  struck 
me,  more  than  ever,  how  mercifully  the  infirmity  of  human 
nature  has  been  provided  for,  even  in  the  very  language 
of  the  Bible.  Now  and  then  I  wrote  a  letter,  or  told  her 
I  had  received  one,  but  she  never  asked  to  see  them. 
Her  mind  was  scarcely  conscious  of  aay  thing  that  went 
on  externally ;  yet  she  did  not  repine  in  the  least.  -The 
few  words  she  did  say  expressed  the  most  entire  convic- 
tion of  the  mercy  which  had  ordered  her  trial ;  but  she 
was  quite  stunned  by  it,  and  seemed  willing  to  leave  every 
thing  in  our  hands  to  be  settled  just  as  we  might  think 
best. 

Occasionally  there  were  terrible  bursts  of  agony,  but 
those  were  almost  better  to  me  than  the  silent  apathy ; — 
I  could  calm  them  by  giving  her  a  few  drops  of  laudanum, 
and  then  she  would  beg  me  to  read  prayers  to  her.  Once 
I  asked  if  she  would  let  Mr.  Miller  come  to  her,  but 
could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  that.  She  had  never 
talked  to  him,  or  to  any  one,  with  unreserve ;  and  I 
felt  sure,  in  my  own  mind,  that  the  sufi'ering  which 
had  brought  her  to  this  state  was  as  much  physical  as 
mental. 

Nothing  was  said  about  family  arrangements  all  this 
time  ; — nothing,  at  least,  which  I  heard.  I  thought,  one© 
or  twice,  that  Caroline  seemed  inclined  to  talk  to  me,  but 
I  avoided  the  subject.  One  sad  week  of  rest  I  felt  we 
must  and  ought  to  have. 

But  the  day  came  at  last.  It  was  all  over.  He  was 
laid  to  rest  in  the  quiet  village  churchyard,  at  Hurst,  and 
life  without  him  was  to  begin. 

I  said  to  Herbert,  when  we  were  alone  together  in  the 
afternoon,  that  I  should  like,  before  any  of  the  general 
discussions,  which  must  take  place,  should  begin,  to  have 
a  private  conversation  with  my  uncle  Ralph.  I  dreaded 
his  mystifying  explanation,  and  I  thought  it  possible,  he 
might  still  wish  to  persuade  my  mother  to  give  up  all  ar- 
rangements to  him.  We  should  have  no  right  to  inter- 
fore  with  such  a  plan,  if  she  -  approved  of  it,  for  all  my 


222  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

father's  property  was,  we  knew,  left  to  her ;  but  it  wai 
certain  that  our  influence  would  have  great  weight.  Her- 
bert said,  he  would  talk  to  him  that  evening  ;  and  I  felt 
better,  even  when  this  was  decided  upon,  for  suspense  and 
uncertainty  were  making  me  quite  ill. 

My  mother  was  lying  down  just  then.  I  hoped  she 
was  going  to  sleep,  and  I  made  Hester  sit  with  her, 
whilst  I  went  out  a  little  into  the  garden.  I  was  afraid 
of  meeting  any  one,  and  instead  of  going  across  the  lawn, 
I  made  my  escape  by  the  back  door  into  a  shrubbery, 
behind  the  house,  which  was  not^generally  frequented 
because  there  was  no  view  from  it.  It  had  been  a  favourite 
resort,  however,  of  my  father's,  and  he  had  made  a  moss- 
house  in  it,  and  used  to  spend  many  mornings  there  in  the 
summer,  reading  and  writing.  The  moss-house  was  very 
neglected-looking  now,  for  the  seats  were  damp,  and  the 
wind  had  blown  a  number  of  dead  leaves  into  it ;  but  it 
was  quiet,  and  out  of  the  way  ;  and  when  I  saw  my  father's 
clasp-knife  lying  on  the  rough  table,  it  gave  me  a  feeling 
of  satisfaction  to  be  there,  as  if  I  was  showing  my  respect 
for  him,  by  visiting  the  place  he  had  liked. 

I  had  been  in  the  moss-house  about  twenty  minutes, 
when  I  was  annoyed  by  hearing  voices  in  the  shrubbery. 
I  could  not  exactly  make  out  whose,  but  I  sat  up  in  the 
darkest  corner,  and  tried  to  conceal  myself  behind  some 
straggling  branches  of  clematis,  and  the  persons,  whoever 
they  were,  went  by  without  noticing  me.  I  fancied  they 
were  Caroline,  Horatia,  and  uncle  Kalph ;  but  I  was  not 
sure.  The  thought  of  them  disturbed  me  very  much.  I 
no  longer  felt  alone,  and  was  considering  what  other  place 
I  could  find  more  free  from  interruption,  when  my  soli- 
tude was  really  broken  in  upon  by  the  entrance  of  Horatia 
Gray.  She  came  in,  glancing  sharply  round,  to  be  sure 
that  nothing  else  was  hidden  in  the  corners,  and  then,  in 
a  tone  of  loud  sympathy,  expressed  her  surprise  and  re- 
gret at  finding  me  there  all  alone.  "  It  was  so  bad  for 
me,"  she  said  ;  "  bad  in  every  way ;  and  they  all  felt  it  so 
much ;  they  wished  so  extremely  to  have  me  more  with 
them."  I  had  been  in  attendance  upon  my  mother,  I  re- 
plied ;  that  was  the  real  reason  of  my  absenting  myself; 
though,  certainly,  we  must  all  feel  at  such  times  that  oc- 


THE    EXPERIENCE   OF    LIFE.  223 

casional  solitude  was  a  great  luxury.  "  Yes,  occasional, 
of  course  ;  but  you  know,  Sarah,  it  is  very  much  your 
way  to  like  to  live  alone  ;  and  really  just  now,  when  there 
is  so  much  to  be  done  and  thought  of,  it  will  be  necessary 
for  all  to  exert  themselves."  She  looked  at  me  with  an 
expression  I  could  not  define, — it  seemed  partly  to  be 
curiosity.  "  Perhaps,"  I  said,  "  a  little  rest  and  quietness 
may  not  be  a  bad  preparation  for  work."  "  Perhaps  not, 
a  little  ;  and  if — if  you  really  are  prepared  for  work."  "  I 
hope  I  am,"  I  said.  "  I  do  not  know  what  I  have  ever 
said  or  done  which  should  give  you  a  notion  that  I  am 
not  prepared."  "  Oh,  nothing.  I  did  not  in  the  least 
mean  to  imply  that.  Every  one  knows  you  are  wonder- 
fully energetic.  But,  as  I  have  learnt  from  experience," 
and  her  voice  became  suddenly  and  almost  painfully  mel- 
ancholy, '•  in  these  cases  there  is  so  much  to  be  settled, 
that  it  is  well  to  rouse  oneself  at  once  to  what  is  necessa- 
ry." "  I  believe  I  am  quite  ready,"  I  said.  "  No  doubt, 
to-morrow  we  shall  have  much  to  arrange,  but  to-day  is 
rather  soon."  I  stood  up  to  go,  for  I  was  afraid  my  mo- 
ther might  be  wanting  me  ;  and,  besides,  I  had  an  uncon- 
querable dislike  to  talking  about  family  aJBPairs  with  Ho- 
ratia.  A  stronger  will  than  mine,  however,  compelled 
me  to  remain,  Horatia  touched  my  arm,  and  said,  half 
playfully,  "  Sit  down,  can't  you?  just  for  five  minutes. — 
It  is  not  often  I  see  much  of  you."  I  obeyed.  "  I  must 
be  going  back  to  aunt  Colston  the  day  after  to-morrow," 
continued  Horatia ;  "  I  meant  to  have  gone  to-morrow, 
but  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  leave  you  all  till 
your  plans  were  formed ;  and  aunt  Colston,  too,  will  be 
so  anxious  to  know  what  you  intend  to  do."  '•  It  may 
take  longer  than  one  day  to  decide  that,"  I  said.  "  Yes, 
so  your  uncle,  Mr.  Mortimer,  observed  just  now,  when  he 
was  talking  to  me  upon  the  subject."  Uncle  Ralph  talk- 
ing to  Horatia  about  our  private  affairs !  Why  was  I  so 
Intensely  irritated  ?  "  He  takes  a  very  kind  view  of  mat- 
ters," she  added, "  as  I  need  not  say  to  you  he  would.  He 
is  very  anxious  not  to  distress  you."  I  prayed  that  I 
might  be  patient ;  it  was  all  I  could  do.  "  You  see, 
Sarah,"  Horatia  continued,  sympathisingly  and  confiden- 
tially, "  things  can  be  said  to  you,  which  it  would  be  ira- 


224  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

possible  to  say  at  once  to  the  others.     Caroline  has  liitk 

concern  in  them,  and  poor  Joanna  and  Hester "    "You 

are  very  good,  Horatia,"  I  observed,  interrupting  her, -'to 
'trouble  yourself  about  us,  but  the  subjects  of  which  you 
speak  concern  us  all  equally,  and  perhaps  we  can  under 
stand  them  better  than  you  can.  When  the  fitting  time 
comes  we  shall  all  be  ready  to  hear  what  is  to  be  said  of 
them."  "  Certainly,  certainly, — you  must  pardon  me,  I 
had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  interfering.  I  am  quite 
sure  you  will  all  do  every  thing  that  is  right,  but  I  was 
only  anxious : — in  fact,  from  what  your  uncle  said,  I  was 
sure  it  would  be  kinder  to  prepare  your  mind  beforehand." 
"  For  what  ?  "  there  was  no  means  of  escape,  and  I  felt 
desperately  beiit  upon  coming  to  the  point.  "  He  did  not 
exactly  beg  me  to  tell  you,  but  he  said  it  must  be  known 
before  long,"  replied  Horatia.  She  paused  for  a  moment, 
and  then  went  on  rapidly,  "  I  suppose  you  will  scarcely 
expect  to  be  told  that  your  father  has  left — nothing." 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  me  as  she  spoke  ;  they  seemed 
to  expand  in  size,  and  deepen  in  strength  of  expression, 
but  I  did  not  shrink  from  them.  "  Thank  you,"  I  re- 
plied ;  "  I  knew  it  to  be  probable."  I  spoke  the  words 
quite  calmly.  But  the  pulsation  of  my  heart  seemed  to 
stopj  and  I  felt  very  faint.  We  were  both  silent  for  some 
moments  ;  at  last  I  said,  "  Forgive  me  for  leaving  you. 
If  there  is  more  to  be  learnt  it  will  be  better  told  me  by 
my  uncle.''  I  did  not  trust  myself  with  another  word, 
scarcely  with  another  thought ;  but  when  I  was  beyond 
her  sight,  I  hurried  into  the  house,  rushed  to  my  room, 
bolted  the  door,  and,  kneeling  down,  prayed  more  earn- 
estly than  I  had  ever  prayed  before,  for  faith  in  God  and 
charity  to  man. 

They  were  sorely,  sorely  needed.  I  had  thought  my- 
self prepared,  but  I  was  not.  Nothing !  no  help  !  no 
support !  It  must  be  untrue, — it  must  be  an  exaggera- 
tion,— their  way  of  putting  the  case  in  the  worst  form  ; 
and  if  it  were  not  so,  why  was  I  thus  told  of  the  fact  ? 
Why  was  it  left  to  a  person  out  of  the  family,  who  had  no 
right  even  to  give  an  opinion,  to  inform  me  of  it  ?  I  felt 
myself  humiliated,  insulted.  The  thought  of  Horatia's 
sympathy  was  galling  to  me  beyond  the  power  of  expres* 


THE    EXPERIENCE   OF    LIFE.  226 

siori.  But  I  had  not  betrayed  myself.  She  had  not 
known,  she.  never  should  know,  the  extent  of  the  shock  she 
had  given  me. 

Alas  !  for  the  pride  that  would  fain  assume  the  garb 
of  virtue.  I  became  aware  of  it  when  I  tried  to  repeat 
the  Lord's  Prayer.  I  could  not  say  "  Forgive  us  our 
trespasses,  as  we  forgive  them  that  trespass  against  us." 

The  fact  startled  me.  I  thank  God  that  I  saw  my 
danger.  There  was  a  false  principle  at  work  within  my 
heart,  which,  if  I  yielded  to  it,  might  mar  my  whole  future 
character.  Once  indulge  in  pride  and  suspicion,  and  both 
principle  and  judgment  would  be  warped,  fatally  for  pros- 
perity in  this  world, — it  might  be,  fatally  for  happiness  in 
another. 

Yet  it  was  very  hard  to  bring  myself  to  a  right  mind. 
The  effort  of  thought  which  I  compelled  myself  to  make, 
before  considering  the  fact  thus  suddenly  communicated, 
was  intense. 

For  my  uncle  and  Horatia  were  selfish,  and  guided 
by  private  motives  and  interest.  The  experience  of  years 
had  proved  it,  and  I  could  not  therefore  avoid  distrusting 
them.  Where,  then,  did  right  prudence  end,  and  wrong 
suspicion  begin?     It  seemed  impossible  to  decide. 

But  I  turn'ed  to  myself.  Was  I  then  so  faultless? 
W^as  there  no  haughty  independence,  false  sensitiveness, 
tendency  to  hasty  judgment,  in  my  own  character  ?  And 
might  not  these  faults  lead  me  to  misconstrue,  and  to 
imagine  insult  where  none  was  intended?  Conscience  wit- 
nessed against  me,  and  suggested  what,  in  after  trials, 
was,  I  believe,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  my  great  safe- 
guard against  uncharitableness. 

Knowing  that  I  suspected  others,  I  saw  that  I  was 
bound  first  to  suspect  myself.  If  offence  was  given,  I  was 
not  to  shut  my  eyes  to  the  fact;  that  I  knew  well  only 
increased  the  secret  bitterness ;  but  I  was  to  put  side  by 
side  with  it  the  fair  extenuations  which  a  disinterested 
person  might  see,  and  I  was  to  believe  them  rather  than 
my  own  feelings,  because  I  knew  myself  to  be  prejudiced. 
Again  I  thought  over  my  interview  with  Horatia.  She 
had  done  me  no  harm.  She  might  have  intended  me  a 
kindness.  I  do  not  say  I  believe  she  did,  but  without 
10* 


S26  THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE. 

further  evidence  I  had  no  right  to  indulge  the  contrary 
opinion,  and  by  degrees  self-reproach  became  more  power- 
ful than  anger,  and  my  troubled  spirit  found  rest  in  the 
acknowledgment  of  my  own  faults. 

I  was  summoned  down  stairs  to  the  dining-room. 
The  room  looked  full :  Caroline  and  Mrs.  Blair  talking 
together  in  an  under  tone  ;  Vaughan  leaning  back  in  my 
father's  arm-chair,  with  his  eyes  half-closed  ;  Reginald 
standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  grave  but  watchful ; 
Horatia,  with  Joanna's  hand  in  hers,  seated  near  the 
table  ;  Herbert  opposite  to  her,  mechanically  turning  over 
some  papers.  Hester  only  was  absent.  In  the  centre,  at 
the  head  of  the  table,  sat  my  uncle  Ralph,  busied  likewise 
with  papers,  which  he  touched  with  a  tremulous  hand,  not 
once  raising  his  eyes  till  Herbert  said,  "  Sarah  is  here," 
and  motioned  me  to  sit  down  in  a  chair  by  his  side. 

Uncle  Ralph  looked  up  then,  and  coughed  shortly. 
''  We  are  met ;" — he  glanced  quickly  round  the  room  ; — 
"  I  think  we  are  all  here,  except  my  dear  sister,  who  beg- 
ged to  be  excused,  and  little  Hester.  Well !  that  will  not 
signify  : — we  are  met  to  read  my  poor  brother's  will.  He 
took  up  the  paper,  adjusted  his  spectacles,  and  broke  the 
seal.  There  were  no  looks  of  anxiety  or  expectation ;  we 
had  all  known  long  before  what  the  contents  would  be. 
My  uncle  read  the  short  statement  in  a  clear  voice.  All 
the  property,  of  whatever  kind,  was  to  be  my  mother's  ; 
subject,  of  course,  to  the  payment  of  my  father's  lawful 
debts ;  to  be  disposed  of  according  to  her  will,  at  her 
death.  Mr.  Blair  was  the  first  to  make  an  observation. 
"  Well,  then,  sir,  this  being  done,  I  conclude  that  all  ar- 
rangements will  be  with  Mrs.  Mortimer.  Therefore,  Caro- 
line,— turning  to  his  wife, — it  may  be  as  well  for  us  to 
return  to  town  to-morrow."  "  Unquestionably ;  but  before 
we  go  my  uncle  might  be  able  to  give  us  some  definite 
notions  as  to  the  amount  of  the  property.  It  is  a  ques- 
tion .which  does,  in  a  measure,  concern  us,  as  in  the  event 
of  my  mother's  death,  it  will  naturally  be  divided  equally." 
"  A  difficult  inquiry  that,  my  dear  niece,"  replied  my 
uncle,  "  involving  many  complicated  questions.  No  one 
can  hazard  an  opinion  as  yet.  I  will  look  over  our  ac- 
counts  with  care,  and  lay  the  statement  before  the  family 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE.  ^22|, 

at  the  earliest  opportunity."  I  had  an  eager  impulse  td 
speak,  but  Herbert  touched  my  arm  and  kept  me  silent. 
"  Then  we  may  go,  I  suppose,"  said  Joanna,  withdrawing 
her  hand,  I  thought  rather  willingly,  from  Horatia's  ca- 
resses. "  Yes,  we  may  all  go,  I  suppose,"  observed  Caro- 
line, with  a  disappointed  air ;  "  though  I  confess  I  should 
have  been  glad  to  have  had  a  little  more  information." 

Vaughan  came  forward  and  said, — we  were  all  much 
obliged  to  my  uncle  for  the  trouble  he  took  in  these  busi- 
ness matters.  He  was  sure  every  thing  would  be  settled 
in  the  most  comfortable  way.  He  was  himself  obliged  to 
go  back  to  town  immediately :  but  if  he  could  be  of  the 
least  use  he  should  make  a  point  of  returning.  In  fact, 
if  it  were  not  for  my  uncle's  being  on  the  spot,  he  should 
have  felt  it  his  duty  to  stay.  As  the  eldest  son,  he  knew 
that  great  responsibility  rested  upon  him,  and  he  was  noL 
in  the  least  wishing  to  shrink  from  it.  He  was  very 
grave  as  he  said  this,  with  a  little  air  of  self-consciousness 
about  him,  which  might  have  amused  a  stranger.  Just 
then  Herbert  was  called  out  of  the  room.  AH  moved 
when  he  moved.  Reginald  lingered  by  the  table,  and 
offered  to  help  my  uncle  in  looking  over  any  accounts,  as 
he  should  be  with  us  for  a  day  or  two  ;  an  offer  which 
was  graciously  received,  but  neither  accepted  nor  declined. 
"  Come  into  the  garden  with  me,  Sarah,  we  shall  both  be 
the  better  for  a  little  fresh  air,"  said  Horatia,  tapping  me 
on  the  shoulder.  "  This  room  is  terribly  hot ;"  and  she 
stirred  the  fire,  and  opened  the  window.  I  felt  my  cour- 
age sinking ;  no  words  can  tell  how  I  dreaded  a  private 
conversation  with  uncle  Ralph,  but  I  knew  that  Herbert 
had  intended  I  should  have  it.  "  Thank  you,"  I  replied, 
"  but  I  cannot  come  now,  I  wish  to  speak  with  my  uncle 
alone."  I  said  the  words  pointedly  that  they  might  not 
be  misunderstood ;  and  with  what  I  imagined  to  be  a 
meaning  glance  at  uncle  Ralph,  Horatia  left  the  room. 

My  knees  trembled  violently.  I  was  forced  to  sit 
down.  My  uncle  still  fidgeted  with  the  papers,  and, 
without  looking  up,  said  in  his  most  conciliatory  manner, 
though  I  fancied  that  his  voice  was  slightly  husky,  "Well, 
my  dear  niece,  what  little  business  have  you  to  talk 
about?" 


228  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  about  ray  father's  affairs,"  I  said,  for 
I  was  desperate  in  my  boldness.  "  Hem,  perhaps  it  may 
be  better *to  defer  the  matter  for  the  present.  It  is  a 
question  for  the  whole  family,  not  for  one  individual." 
"  But  you  have  already  spoken  to  one  individual,"  I  ex- 
claimed. "  You  have  told  Horatia  Gray  ;  what  right  had 
she  to  know  before  us  ? "  He  knitted  his  brows  angrily 
for  a  moment,  but  recovered  himself  quickly.  "  Your 
cousin  Horatia  has  been  hasty,  but  I  excuse  her.  She 
suggested,  from  the  kindest  motives,  that  it  might  be- well 
to  give  you  warning  first,  as  we  agreed  that  your  strong 
mind  would  be  the  best  fitted  to  prepare  the  minds  of 
your  mother  and  sisters.  I  fully  agreed  with  her,  but 
I  did  not  intend  that  the  communication  should  be  made 
until  after  the  family  meeting  we  have  just  had.  These 
things  are  always  better  managed  quietly,  without  disturb- 
ance,— without  risk  of  painful  excitement." 

Horatia  Gray  !  what  right  had  she  to  such  confidence ! 
It  was  the  feeling  still  first  in  my  mind,  but  with  great 
effort  I  kept  it  down. 

"  If  my  father  has  really  left  nothing,"  I  said,  "  it  is 
desirable  that  we  should  immediately  see  a  statement  of 
his  accounts." 

"Precisely;  the  very  thing  I  am  most  anxious  for; 
but  you  see,  my  dear  little  niece,"  and  he  patted  a  huge 
account  book  with  his  forefinger,  "  these  necessary  docu- 
ments require  a  long  time  to  be  made  clear, — clear,  at 
least,  to  inexperienced  eyes.  You  will  find  everything 
perfectly  exact, — debtor  and  creditor — debtor  and  credit* 
or ;" — he  turned  over  the  pages  rapidly,  drawing  his  hand 
across  ominous  lists  of  figures.  "Accounts  that  have  gone 
on  for  so  many  years,"  he  continued,  "  must,  to  a  certain 
degree,  be  intricate  ;  but  you  will  find  upon  inquiry  that 
nothing  can  be  more  plain — I  wish  I  could  say  more  sat- 
isfactory." "And  my  father  has  then  actually  left  noth- 
ing?" I  said.  "  That  may  be  a  strong  way  of  stating  the 
case ;  there  may  be  a  balance.  There  may — it  is  possi- 
ble ;  I  am  afraid  I  can  give  you  but  little  hope,  but  still 
we  will  not  despair.  The  fact  is,  my  dear  niece,  your 
poor  father  lived — ^you  know,  and  I  know,  and  we  all 
know — he  lived  up  to  his  income,  and  beyond  his  income ; 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  229 

and  there  were  little  speculations — he  always  liked  the 
excitement — perhaps  I  was  weak,  and  did  not  set  my  face 
against  them  as  I  ought ;  but  it  is  hard  for  a  brother  to 
interfere — we  all  have  our  weak  points  ;  and,  indeed — but 
I  need  not  trouble  you  with  all  these  particulars  now  ;  you 
shall  see  them  byand-by,  in  figures,  black  and  white. 
Perhaps,  in  the  meantime,  you  will  just  hint  to  your  poor 
mother,  and  your  brothers  and  sisters,  the  state  of  the 
case, — ^just  hint  it  cautiously."  He  piled  his  books  one 
upon  the  other,  and  added :  "  Might  I  just  have  them 
taken  into  your  poor  father's  study  ?  I  thought  I  might 
work  a  little  at  them  this  afternoon,  as,  of  course,  I  shall 
not  be  at  the  Bank." 

Uncle  Ralph  in  my  father's  study  !  Tears,  which  I 
could  not  control,  rushed  to  my  eyes.  "  Poor  child  ! — 
poor  dear  ! — it  certainly  is  very  sad,  but  we  all  must  have 
our  trials  in  this  evil  world,  and  when  you  have  lived  as 
long  as  I  have,  you  will  understand  more  about  it.  How- 
ever, I  have  no  doubt  you  will  all  do  much  better  than 
you  think  for."  He  was  going  away,  but  I  prevented 
him,  "  Uncle  Bal^h,  will  you  tell  me  one  thing :  how 
much  money  had  my  father  allowed  him  by  my  grand- 
father?" He  gazed  at  me  in  excessive  surprise.  "I 
scarcely  understand  your  inquiry,  my  dear  niece.  Your 
poor  father  had  a  very  handsome  allowance,  but  he  never 
lived  within  his  income.  The  interest  of  certain  sums 
was  set  apart  for  him — twenty  thousand  pounds."  "  Five 
and  twenty,  was  it  not?"  I  said,  for  my  mind  had  trav- 
elled back  through  the*  long  vista  of  years  to  the  dining- 
room  at  Castle  House,  and  the  conversation  which  had  so 
indelibly  stamped  itself  upon  my  memory.  A  lightning 
gleam  of  intense  indignation  flashed  from  my  uncle's  eyes, 
followed  by  the  smoothest,  softest  breath  of  expostula- 
tion. "  My  dear  little  niece,  you  are, — pardon  me  for 
saying  so, — but  you  are  getting  beyond  your  depth.  It  is 
much  better  for  women  never  to  meddle  in  affairs  of  this 
kind.  Your  brothers  and  I  will  settle  everything,  depend 
upon  it,  and  we  will  do  you  quite  justice ;  only  keep  up 
your  spirits,  and  trust  to  us." 

He  kissed  my  cheek,  and  left  me. 


230  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 


The  result  of  that  interview  may  be  told  in  few  wwrds, 
I  did  not  hint  cautiously  to  any  one  but  my  mother.  I 
found  Herbert  first,  and  laid  before  him  the  facts  I  had 
gathered,  and  then  together  we  communicated  them  to  all 
the  rest,  except  Hester.  My  private  opinions  I  kept  to 
myself  I  do  not  believe  that  any  one,  except  Joanna, 
was  very  much  surprised.  The  most  ordinary  amount  of 
common  sense  would  have  been  sufficient  long  before  to 
prepare  them.  Vaughan  was  really  grieved  for  those 
upon  -whom  the  burden  was  to  fall.     Caroline  and  Regi- 

.  nald,  I  could  see,  were  anxious  to  learn  what  plans  would 
be  suggested,  and  how  much  inconvenience  would  come 
upon  them ;  but  the  chief  thought  of  all  was  for  my 
mother,  and  to  me  was  unanimously  deputed  the  task  of 
breaking  the  intelligence.  I  found  her  reading,  or  per- 
haps more  truly,  endeavouring  to  read.  She  was  very 
much  altered  ;  her  widow's  cap  gave  a  peculiar  fixed  re- 
pose to  her  features,  as  if  she  had  severed  herself  from 
all  connection  with  common  life,  and  had  entered  upon  an 
existence  of  saintly  contemplation.     It  would  have  been 

*■  more  easy  to  talk  to  her  about  business  the  day  previous. 
She  was  excited  then  at  times,  and  had  spoken  to  me  of 
my  father ;  now  her  heart  lay  buried  with  him,  and  it 
seemed  profanation  to  call  it  back  to  earth.  Yet  I  was 
sure  it  ought  to  be  done  at  once.  Vaughan,  Mr.  Blair, 
Reginald,  were  all  thinking  of  leaving  us  ;  before  they 
went,  it  would  be  natural  and  right  to  give  her  the  oppor- 
tunity of  consulting  them,  or  at  least,  of  talking  over 
everything  with  them,  if  she  wished  it.  And  they  would 
not  be  satisfied  if  it  were  not  so.  I  made  an  excuse  for 
having  been  so  long  away,  and  said,  I  had  been  engaged, — 
there  had  been  so  many  things  to  settle,  and  my  uncle 
had  requested  us  to  meet  together.  Yes,  she  observed, 
very  calmly,  to  read  the  will.  She  was  thankful  my  uncle 
had  not  wished  her  to  be  there.  "  It  would  have  been  a 
great  trial  for  you,  dear  mamma,"  I  said.  "  It  was  very 
sad  for  us  all ;  and  one  would  rather  not  ask  you  to  think 
of  business,  only  it  cannot  very  well  be  helped."     "  You 


THE    EXPERIENCE   OP    LIFE.  231 

vuust  all  think  about  it  now,"  she  answered.  "  It  concerns 
you  more  than  it  does  me."  "  It  concerns  every  one  very 
much,  I  am  afraid,"  was  my  reply.  "  Uncle  Ralph  has 
been  talking  to  me  a  little."  Her  countenaijce  changed 
directly.  "  Cannot  Vaughan  settle  it  all  without  troub- 
ling your  uncle  1 "  she  asked.  "  Vaughan  does  not  under- 
stand it,"  I  said.  "  No  one  can  understand  it,  except  my 
uncle."  "  I  suppose  so ;  it  was  all  trusted  to.  him,"  ob- 
served my  mother,  half-speaking  to  herself.  "  I  would 
much  rather  that  Vaughan  should  manage  it,  and  so  we 
all  would,"  I  continued  ;  "  and  we  must  hope  he  will  by-^ 
and-by.  But  we  must  learn  a  good  deal  first  from  uncle 
Ralph,  who  is  busy  looking  over  accounts  now."  I  paused 
for  a  moment,  hoping  she  would  ask  some  definite  ques- 
tion ;  but  she  said  nothing,  and  I  went  on.  "  The  ac- 
counts must  be  very  complicated.  Uncle  Ralph  showed 
me  a  great  book  just  now,  in  which  they  were  kept.  I  am 
afraid  there  must  be  a  good  deal  to  arrange  with  the 
Bank."  "  Yes,  it  must  take  a  long  time,"  said  my  moth- 
er ;  but  there  was  not  the  least  interest  in  her  tone. 

"  We  must  hope,  though,  that  my  uncle  will  not  delay 
at  all,"  I  observed,  '•  for  it  is  quite  necessary  for  us  to 
know  exactly  what  we  have  to  depend  upon ;  and,  if  it 

should  be  very  small "  I  paused,  and  looked  at  her 

anxiously.  "  Should  you  be  exceedingly  miserable,  dear 
mamma,  if  we  were  obliged  to  go  away  from  East  Side?" 
I  saw  her  lip  quiver,  but  she  did  not  give  way  in  the  least, 
and  only  said,  "  I  would  do  what  you  all  think  right,  my 
dear."  I  kissed  her  pallid  face,  and  called  her  my  own 
sweet  mother,  and  told  her  we  had  but  one  wish  to  make 
her  comfortable  ;  and  she  roused  herself  then  a  little,  and 
asked  what  uncle  Ralph  thought.  "  He  does  not  seem  to 
imagine  there  will  be  much,"  I  said.  "  We  have  always 
been  at  such  great  expenses."  "  Yes,"  replied  my  mo- 
ther, mournfully  ;  "  but  I  never  could  make  — -—  ;  he 
never  would  think  about  them.  He  longed  so  to  give  you 
all  pleasure."  "  Yes,  indeed,  he  did,"  I  said  ;  "  our  lives 
would  have  been  very  different  if  he  had  not  thought  for 
us ;  but  we  will  bear  up,  dear  mamma,  whatever  happens. 
I  am  sure  we  shall  never,  be  left  without  help."  ''  No," 
•he  replied,  she  was  quite  satisfied  about  that ;  she  was 


232  THE    EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE. 

sure  all  would  be  ordered  for  the  best,  and  she  was  quit« 
contented.  The  few  short  years  she  had  to  live  would  be 
the  same  for  her  everywhere.  She  turned  the  pages  of 
her  book  agAin,  and  I  saw  she  could  not  bear  any  longer 
dwelling  upon  the  subject.  I  did  not  feel  that  I  had 
really  made  her  comprehend  the  truth.  She  was  not  in  a 
state  to  realize  it ;  but  I  had  taken  the  first  step  towards 
it ;  and  when  I  thought  she  could  be  left  again  for  a  little 
while,  I  went  away  to  find  Hester. 

Telling  her  was,  I  think,  worse  than  any  thing,  just 
at  firsi  The  very  probability  of  being  obliged  to  leave 
*East  Side  was  so  dreadful  to  her  ;  and  it  was  such  great 
pain  to  feel  that  one  was  darkening  the  brightness  of  her 
young  life  ;  but  she  was  entirely  unselfish  :  and  unselfish 
persons  are  always  more  reasonable  than  others,  unless 
perhaps,  upon  the  subject  of  self-sacrifice.  When  I  put 
before  her  what  I  believed  to  be  the  true  state  of  the 
case,  and  she  saw  how  much  depended  upon  quiet,  good 
judgment,  and  energy,  she  at  once  nerved  herself  for  the 
occasion,  threw  herself,  as  I  had  always  felt  sure  she 
would,  into  my  plans,  and  became,  next  to  Herbert,  my 
chief  support.  '  Joanna  alone  was  inconsolable  ;  and  what 
was  still  more  vexatious  to  me,  she  would  not  see  the 
truth.  She  could  not  understand,  she  said,  how  a  man 
like  my  father,  who  had  always  had  sufiicient  money, 
should  leave  nothing.  She  was  sure  there  iTiust  be  some 
mistake.  She  wished  Vaughan  and  Reginald  would  look 
over  the  accounts  themselves.  And  if  the  worst  came  to 
the  worst,  she  saw  no  reason  for  leaving  East  Side.  We 
might  live  there  with  only  two  servants,  or  one  even,  if 
we  chose  it.  It  was  absurd  to  suppose  we  should  starve, 
with  uncle  Ralph  bound  to  come  forward  and  help  us, 
and  Caroline  and  aunt  Colston  rolling  in  riches  ;  of  course, 
they  would  make  some  arrangement  between  them.  As 
for  me,  I  always  looked  to  the  worst  side  in  every  thing ; 
and  she  really  could  not  depend  upon  my  judgment ;  in 
fact,  she  would  go  and  talk  to  uncle  Ralph  herself  I 
prevented  her  from  doing  this,  but  I  did  not  argue  the 
matter  with  her ;  and  leaving  her,  went  to  my  own  room, 
to  rest  and  think. 

All  departures,  except  one,  were  deferred  for  another 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  233 

day,  tliat  my  uncle  might  be  able  to  bring  the  accounts 
into  some  definite  form  before  the  separation  of  the  fa- 
mily took  place :  that  one,  to  my  intense  relief,  was  Ho- 
ratia's  ;  a  summons  from  aunt  Colston  called  her  back 
to  London,  and  she  set  off  alone.  We  had  scarcely  spoken 
since  our  trying- interview,  except  to  interchange  neces- 
sary civilities.  The  utmost  stretch  of  charity  could  not 
prevent  me  now  from  believing  that  she  had  willingly 
been  the  person  to  communicate  our  ill-fortune,  and  the 
confidence  which  existed  between  her  and  my  uncle  was 
offensive  to  my  taste,  and  jarring  to  my  feelings.  I 
avoided  her  society,  and  she  saw  it.  We  parted  coldly  : 
and  I  did  not  think  myself  bound  to  use  words  which 
were  not  sincere,  by  hoping  we  should  meet  again.  When 
she  was  gone,  I  felt  that  I  could  better  bear  whatever 
pain  might  further  be  in  store  for  us. 

Notwithstanding  my  uncle's  assertions,  that  •  the  ac- 
counts were  complicated,  I  was  quite^  sure,  in  my  own 
mind,  that  he  knew  perfectly  well  how  they  stood,  and 
would  be  able,  at  any  moment  he  chose,  to  place  them 
clearly  before  others. 

And  so  it  proved.  Month  after  month  my  father  had 
drawn  the  sums  he  needed,  or  fancied  he  needed ;  and 
month  after  month  they  had  all  been  registered  by  my 
uncle.  At  the  close  of  each  year  my  father  had  groaned 
over  his  bills,  put  them  aside,  and  forgotten  •  he  was  in 
debt ;  at  the  close  of  each  year,  my  uncle  had  duly  cast 
up  his  accounts,  noted  the  balance,  and  brought  forward 
the  overplus,  with  interest  duly  reckoned  to  the  day,  to 
the  creditor  side  of  the  page.  This  had  been  the  course 
of  proceedings  till  the  time  of  my  grandfather's  death. 
Something  of  a  settlement  had  then  taken  place.  My 
uncle  had  taken  care  that  the  sums  advanced  should  be 
replaced,  and  my  father  finding  himself,  in  consequence, 
considerably  poorer  than  he  had  supposed,  had  been  per- 
suaded by  my  uncle  to  enter  into  speculations  which  pro- 
mised to  be  advantageous,  and  by  which  he  hoped  to  re- 
gain what  he  had  lost.  The  history  of  these  speculations 
was  not  given  us,  but  we  all  knew  that  they  had  been 
unprosperous.  My  uncle  asserted  that  they  had  been 
carried  on  at  my  father's  express  wish, — that  he  had 


234  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

assisted  him  against  his  better  judgment.  It  was  a  fact 
which  none  could  now  controvert,  and  which,  indeed,  it 
was  not  necessary  to  controvert ;  the  result  was  all  tha. 
we  required  to  be  informed  of,  and  it  was  told  in  one  word, 
• — ruin ! 

So  the  case  was  put  before  us,  in  general  words,  when 
we  were  once  more  summoned  to  the  dining-room.  My 
uncle  was  most  especially  anxious  to  prove  that  every 
statement  he  had  made  was  correct,  and  Reginald  and 
Mr.  Blair,  as  the  two  most  competent  persons,  were  in- 
vited to  inspect  the  accounts. 

The  proposal  was  quite  indifferent  to  me.  I  was  sure 
that  no  flaw  would  be  found  in  the  figures.  Yaughan 
agreed  that  it  might  be  well  to  have  an  inspection,  as  a 
matter  of  form,  Mr.  Blair  being  one  of  the  executors  of 
my  father's  will ;  but  he  was  evidently  not  inclined  to 
take  any  trouble  himself, — the  only  question  w4iich  he 
asked,  was  whether  any  surplus,  however  small,  was  left. 

My  uncle  put  "on  a  very  grave  face ;  regretted,  ex- 
tremely, to  be  obliged  to  communicate  such  disagreeable 
intelligence ;  but  it  was  better  at  once  to  be  open  upon 
these  subjects.  There  was  a  considerable  sum  due  to 
one  of  the  mining  companies — three  thousand  pounds  ;  he 
believed  he  was  correct.  Mr.  Blair  and  Reginald  would 
judge  whether  there  had  been  any  mistake. 

I  leant  back  in  my  chair,  and  a  mist  gathered  in  my 
eyes  ;  yet  I  heard  my  uncle's  words  distinctly  as  he  went 
on.  It  was  undoubtedly  a  large  debt,  but  he  trusted 
there  might  be  the  means  of  liquidating  it.  East  Side 
was,  indeed,  heavily  mortgaged  to  himself,  l^that,  alas  ! 
[  knew) — but  the  furniture  of  the  house, — handsomer, 
perhaps,  than  in  prudence  it  should  have  been ;  the 
farming  stock,  small  though  it  was ;  the  garden,  would 
all  produce  something ;  and  he  had  left  unconsid- 
ered the  marriage  settlements,  which,  in  justice,  would 
go  to  liquidate  the  claim.  It  was  with  the  greatest  pos- 
sible difficulty  I  could  command  myself  Justice  !  yes, 
I  knew  it  was  justice.  My  uncle  Ralph  would  never 
have  proposed  anything  that  was  not  justice.  I  looked  at 
Caroline  and  Mr.  Blair.  It  seemed  scarcely  possible  that 
they  could  sit  by  and  hear  of  the  necessity  of  touching 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  235 

the  marriage  settlements, — tlie  small,  the  very  small  sum 
which  was  all  my  mother  could  call  her  own, — and  not 
come  forward  with  the  smallest  offer  of  help.  Yet  they 
did :  they  declared  it  was  fortunate  there  was  such  a 
resource.  Mr.  Blair  even  said  it  was  lucky  the  case  had 
not  gone  on  farther ;  he  meant  that  it  was  lucky  my  father 
died  when  he  did.  I  involuntarily  put  the  words  into 
their  true  form,  and  prayed  God  to  forgive  me  for  it. 
Vaughan  came  up  to  my  chair,  and  leant  over  it,  and 
kissed  me.  I  felt  so  fond  of  him,  I  forgot  all  he  had  ever 
done  amiss,  and  begged  him  not  to  go  away  from  us.  A 
pause  of  embarrassment  ensued.  My  uncle  rose,  pointed 
to  his  book's,  and  said,  with  a  half  smile,  and  a  bow  to  Mr. 
Blair,  that  he  left  them  in  his  charge,  and  he  walked 
away.  Mr.  Blair  and  Caroline,  calmly  ^ave,  followed 
him. 

And  they  were  all  then  monsters — unnatural,  hard- 
hearted, unfeeling  !     No  ;  they  were  only  selfish. 

We  were  not  an  unkind  or  quarrelsome  family.  We 
expressed  a  good  deal  for  each  other,  and,  in  a  certain 
degree,  felt  it.  But  light  and  darkness  are  not  more  dif- 
ferent than  the  two  different  kinds  of  sympathy — the 
external  and  the  internal. 

Vaughan,  Caroline,  and  Reginald  felt  that  we  were  all 
involved  in  one  common  calamity,  and  so,  looking  upon 
the  surface  of  events,  we  were.  They  gave,  therefore, 
exactly  the  amount  of  pity  which  they  felt  they  ought  to 
receive ;  but  they  were  not  themselves  overpowered  with 
grief  at  my  father's  death,  nor  ruined  by  the  state  of  his 
affairs,  and  they  did  not  comprehend  why  any  other  mem- 
ber of  the  family  should  feel  what  had  happened  more 
than  themselves.  It  was  very  distressing,  they  said — ■ 
excessively  sad  for  my  mother — but  it  was  a  comfort  to 
think  that  we  had  all  talents  and  energy,  and  could  exert 
ourselves.  It  might  be  up-hill  work  at  first  ;  but  we 
slfbuld  be  able  to  take  pupils,  or  do  something  to  help 
ourselves,  and  in  the  meantime  there  was  no  instant  pres- 
sure. There  would,  no  doubt,  be  a  small  surplus  when 
everything  was  sold,  and  my  uncle  would  make  the  best 
arrangements  for  us.  No  one,  indeed,  could  be  more 
considerate:  he  was  anxious  to  give  the  property  a  fair 


236  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

chance  of  realizing  its  full  value.  Indeed,  it  seemec 
probable  that  the  place  being  so  pretty  and  so  nicely 
furnished,  would  sell  or  let,  furniture  and  all,  which  would 
be  decidedly  more  advantageous  than  running  the  risk  of 
an  auction.  As  to  our  future  home,  Carsdale  would,  of 
course,  be  the  best  place.  We  had  several  friends  there, 
and  living  in  a  town  would  be  cheaper  than  being  in  the 
country.  They  had  no  doubt  that  we  should  find  some 
comfortable  little  house  which  would  suit  us,  and  my 
mother  would  like  the  excitement  of  marketing  and  shop- 
ping for  herself 

It  was  quite  a  pleasant  little  picture  which  Caroline 
drew  of  our  future  life,  as  she  stood  in  the  hall,  on  the 
morning  of  her  departure,  wrapped  in  a  handsome  travel- 
ling-cloak, and  giving  her  last  words  of  comfort ;  and 
Reginald  added  his  also,  and  said,  that  he  was  sure  any 
certainty  was  better  than  uncertainty,  and  that  we  should, 
as  a  family,  be  much  better  off  when  we  knew  exactly 
what  we  had  to  depend  upon.  Vaughan,  I  thought,  was 
not  quite  so  confident  in  his  expectations  of  our  happi- 
ness;  but  he  said  he  would  write  to  us  often,  and. come 
and  see  us  whenever  he  could.  And  so  they  drove  off, 
and  we  were  left,  not  to  pictures,  but  realities. 

And  oh !  the  difference  !  the  silent  house, — the  oppres- 
sive, mournful  recollections  of  past  joys,— the  fancy  that 
one  heard  his  voice  or  his  step,  and  the  thrilling  pang,  on 
remembering  that  it  could  not  be, — the  self-reproaches 
that  we  had  not  made  him  happier, — the  overwhelming 
feeling  of  desertion  at  the  recollection  that  there  was  no 
one  ^  now  whom  it  was  a  duty  for  my  mother,  as  well  as 
ourselves,  to  lean  upon  !  It  was  well  for  my  sister  and 
my  brothers,  living  away,  their  homes  undisturbed,  their 
daily  pursuits  uninterrupted,  to  talk  of  sympathy,  and 
think  they  gave  it ;  but  the  actual  feeling,  the  power  of 
throwing  themselves  into  our  minds,  seeing  as  we  saw, 
and  understanding  what  we  suffered,  was  as  far  from  them 
as  from  the  stranger  who  had  never  even  heard  of  our 
existence. 

But  I  did  have  sympathy — real,  cordial,  internal  sym- 
pathy at  last.  Lady  Emily  Rivers  came  to  see  me.  One 
hour's  conversation  with  her  was  rest  and  strength.     She 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  237 

comprehended  all — the  grief,  the  loss,  the  loneliness,  the 
responsibility,  the  hourly  and  increasing  pain  at  the  pros- 
pect of  leaving  East  Side.  When,  at  last,  I  gave  way 
entirely,  and  owned  that  I  was  heart-sick  and  miserable, 
Lady  Emily  did  not  think  I  was  complaining.  She  did 
not  give  me  a  lecture  upon  resignation,  or  tell  me  how 
many  comforts  I  had  left ;  but  she  threw  herself  heartily 
and  in  sincerity  into  my  position,  and  kissed  me  tenderly, 
and  said  it  must  be  very  hard  to  bear ;  and  when  she  had. 
thus  soothed  me,  she  gently  turned  my  thoughts  from 
myself  to  Him,  who  knew  the  full  extent  of  the  trial,  and 
who  would  never  have  sent  it  but  in  mercy ;  and  I  felt 
that  with  Him  to  comfort  me,  I  could  never  be  really 
desolate. 

It  was  the  difference  between  the  Bible  and  the  world. 
The  Bible  says,  "  rejoice  with  them  that  do  rejoice,  and 
weep  with  them  that  weep." 

The  world  says,  "  rejoice  with  them  that  ought  to  re- 
joice, and  weep  with  them  that  ought  to  weep."  What 
that  ought  is  it  leaves  to  itself  to  judge. 

Yet  Lady  Emily's  last  speech  brought  with  it  most  pain- 
ful feelings.  Her  brother  and  Miss  Grant,  she  said,  were 
at  Lowood'  They  had  both  begged  to  be  remembered 
kindly  to  Hester  and  to  me. 

Through  what  a  life  of  thought  and  feeling  I  went 
back  in  that  short  sentence !  Ten  days !  -Could  it  be 
possible  that  it  was  only  ten  days  since  I  had  seen  them  ? 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

And  so  it  may  be  thought  that  all  this  time  I  had  forgot- 
ten aunt  Sarah.  She  was  not  immediately  involved  in 
our  sufferings,  and  it  might  seem  that  hourly  anxieties 
had  interfered  with  my  remembrance  of  her.  Then  I 
should  have  forgotten  that  which,  next  to  prayer  and  my 
Bible,  was  now,  during  my  mother's  state  of  depi*ession, 
my  greatest  stay  in  life.  True,  I  had  not  seen  aunt 
Sarah,  and  had  not  been  able  to  write  to  her  more  than  a 


238  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

few  lines  daily,  to  tell  her  how  we  were,  but  the  hope  of 
soon  seeing  her  was  my  daily  comfort  in  my  perplexities. 
These  assumed  gradually  a  more  definite  form.  As 
my  mother  roused  herself  to  understand  our  situation,  her 
calmness  of  mind  became  fretted  into  a  nervous  impa- 
tience, which  was  most  distressing.  It  was,  in  a  measure, 
physical,  I  knew ;  but  the  great  aggravation  of  every  trial 
was  the  idea  that  we  might  at  that  very  moment  be  in- 
curring a  debt  to  my  uncle  for  our  household  expenses. 
She  would  form  the  most  extravagant  plans  for  escaping 
from  the  possibility  of  such  an  obligation,  talk  over  them 
eagerly,  then  become  angry  with  herself  for  her  unreason- 
ableness, and,  perhaps,  end  by  a  fit  of  depression,  which 
was  far  worse  to  witness  than  the  previous  excitement. 
The  distrust  which  she  had  felt  of  my  uncle  all  her  life, 
and  which  had  been  controlled  by  her  own  right  feeling, 
now  gained  the  upper  hand,  in  consequence  of  her  physi- 
cal weakness.  The  subject  on  which  she  was  continually 
dwelling  was  the  way  in  which  my  father  had  been  per- 
suaded to  speculate.  It  was  a  sin,  she  said ;  my  uncle 
knew  well  that  the  speculations  were  dangerous  ;  if  it 
were  not  so,  he  would  have  entered  into  them  himself ; 
but  he  took  advantage  of  my  father's  careless,  generous 
temper,  made  him  run  the  risk,  and  when  there  was  any 
advantage  to  be  gained,  seized  upon  it  for  himself  This 
she  was  certain  of,  from  transactions  which  she  knew  had 
passed  between  them.  I  had  little  doubt  she  was  right. 
Herbert  and  I  made  a  point  of  looking  over  the  accounts 
ourselves,  with  a  faint  hope  that  we  might  find  some  mis- 
take ;  but,  as  far  as  we  could  understand,  there  was  no- 
thing of  the  kind.  The  only  thing  which  struck  me  was, 
that  they  were  kept  upon  the  reckoning  that  my  father 
had,  from  the  time  of  his  leaving  the  army,  been  entitled 
to  eight  hundred  a  year,  whereas  I  never  could  divest 
myself  of  the  belief  that  the  sum  was  intended  to  have 
been  a  thousand.  There  was  no  good  in  thinking  of  the 
matter ;  no  remedy  could  be  brought  forward  now,  and  I 
knew,  besides,  that  eight  hundred  had  been  the  sum  men- 
tioned in  my  grandfather's  will.  Yet  the  idea  weighed 
upon  me,  and  merely  to  prevent  myself  from  thinking 
upon  the  subject  so  much,  I  determined  to  say  something 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE.  239 

to  aunt  Sarah.  With  her  clear  head  and  accurate  mem- 
ory, as  regarded  those  past  years,  I  thought  I  might  hope 
to  receive  some  assistance,  if  itVere  only  by  being  told 
that  my  conjecture  was  untrue.  Perhaps  it  was  better 
to  have  this  definite  business  to  occupy  my  thoughts,  when 
at  last  I  was  able  to  go  to  her,  than  to  be  at  liberty  to 
give  way  to  the  recollections  which  might  otherwise  have 
unnerved  me.  She  was  very  much  agitated  herself  on 
seeing  me,  and  could  not  speak  for  several  moments ;  but 
when  I  took-  oflf  my  bonnet  and  sat  down  by  her,  she  took 
my  hand  in  hers,  and  said,  "  God  bless  you,  my  child, 
Sally  !  my  troubles  are  nearly  over,  but  I  would  be  young 
again  to  save  you."  I  succeeded  in  controlling  my  tears, 
and  began  to  tell  her  how  we  all  were — my  mother  espe- 
cially. She  asked  the  most  minute  questions,  such  as  I 
should  never  have  imagined  before  would  have  entered 
her  head,  and  all  showing  a  marvellous  perception  of  what 
the  state  of  our  household  must  be ;  and  then  at  length 
she  said,  looking  at  me  as  if  to  read  my  mind,  and  see 
the  amount  of  firmness  which  I  possessed,  "And  so,  Sally, 
you  are  poor  now  ;  what  are  you  going  to  do  ? "  "  Live 
in  Carsdale,  and  take  pupils,  if  we  can,"  I  replied.  "  Umph ! 
there  is  nothing  else  to  be  done ;  but  who  is  to  help  you  ?  " 
"  Hester  will — and  Joanna  may,"  I  added,  hesitating  a 
little.  "  And  •  Caroline,  with  her  fine  house  in  Harley 
street ;  and  Reginald,  with  his  sharp  head ;  what  are  they 
going  to  do  ? "  "I  don't  know,"  I  replied ;  "  we  have  not 
talked  over  any  plans  yet.  But,  aunt  Sarah,  there  is  one 
thing  upon  my  mind  which  I  want  to  set  right  to  my  own 
satisfaction  before  I  trouble  myself  about  anything  fur- 
ther. There  is  a  debt,  my  uncle  says."  "  A  debt !  "  and 
aunt  Sarah's  eyes  flashed  with  all  the  sharpness  of  youth. 
"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  child?"  "I  mean  that 
there  is  really  money  owing  to  some  mining  company.'  I 
don't  know  exactly  how  it  could  have  been;  but  poor  papa 
never  looked  into  his  afiairs."  "  And  uncle  Ralph  did  it 
for  him,"  muttered  aunt  Sarah;  "go  on, child."  "It  does 
not  so  much  signify  how  it  arose,"  I  continued,  "  but  it 
exists,  and  that  is  the  weight  upon  us  all ;  and  the  ques- 
tion is,  how  to  get  out  of  it."  Aunt  Sarah  leant  forwards, 
listening  intently ;  but  she  did  not  interrupt  me.     "  East 


240  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

Side  is  mortgaged  to  my  uncle,"  I  continued,  struggling 
to  keep  down  the  feelings  which  nearly  choked  my  ut- 
terance, as  I  said  the^  words  •  "but  the . furniture  and 
every  thing  we  have  will  oe  sold,  and  there  will 
be  the  marriage  settlements  :  perhaps  they  may*  make, 
matters  straight.  But  the  end  will  be,  that  we  shall  be 
left  without  a  penny  in  the  world.  It  would  be  so 
great  a  help  if  my  mother  had  something, — something, 
however  small,  of  her  own, — and  I  hoped  she  would.  I 
used  to  fancy  that  my  father's  income  was  larger  ;  I  once 
heard  that  from  the  time  he  left  the  army  he  was  to  have 
a  thousand  a  year."  "  Yes,  surely,"  said  aunt  Sarah, 
gravely.  "  But  uncle  Ralph  says  no ;  that  it  was  eight 
hundred  always."  Aunt  Sarah  turned  round  upon  me 
so  sharply,  that  she  almost  startled  me.  "When  did 
he  say  that,  child  ?  "  "  Yesterday  ;  at  least^he  implied 
it ;  and  it  must  be  correct,  because  there  is  my  grand- 
father's will  to  prove  it."  "  The  interest  of  five  and  twenty 
thousand  pounds,  at  four  per  cent.,  for  his  life,  and  fifteen 
thousand  in  actual  money  at  your  grandfather's  death ; 
that  was  the  promise,"  said  aunt  Sarah.  "  Who  saw  the 
wiin  "■  "  Mr.  Blair  and  Yaughan.  Uncle  Ralph  wished 
it."  Aunt  Sarah's  face  expressed  a  struggle  of  conflicting 
feelings.  I  saw  she  would  not  trust  herself  to  speak  till 
she  had  conquered  them.  Then  she  said,  "  Put  away  the 
thought  from  your  mind,  Sally  ;  it's  a  temptation."  "  Yes," 
I  replied,  "  I  will,  if  God  will  give  me  strength.  I  long  that 
it  had  never  entered  my  head."  "  Your  grandfather  talked 
to  me  about  Herbert's  coming  home,"  continued  my  aunt. 
"  I  remember  the  time  well.  It  never  suited  my  notions. 
If  a  man  set  out  to  be  a  soldier,  he  had  better  have  kept 
to  it.  We  were  not  made  to  be  weathercocks ;"  and  she 
added,  with  a  sigh,  as  she  glancpd  at  the  picture  of  Colonel 
Mortimer,  "  there  was  one  who*  had  gone  before  him, 
whom  it  would  have  gladdened  us  all  to  see  him  lik«.  But 
your  grandfather  was  growing  old,  and  he  wanted  him. 
He  told  me  what  he  would  give  him.  He  sat  in  that 
chair,  where  you  are  sitting  now,  and  he  had  a  letter  from 
Herbert  in  his  hand,  and  I  said  to  him,  '  Whatever  you 
give,  put  it  down  in  writing.'  "  "  There  was  something 
about  it  in  a  letter,  I  am  sure,"  I  said  ;  and  I  related  the 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  241 

scene  wliich  I  remembered  at  Castle  House.  "  May  be, — 
a  letter,"  replied  my  aunt ;  "  it  was  always  his  way,  and 
Herbert's  too.  Precise  as  the  church  clock  about  other 
people's  affairs,  and  vague  as  the  winds  about  their  own. 
But  no  good  ever  come  of  it,  or  ever  will.  You  may  thank 
God,  Sally,  that  your  father  and  your  uncle  did  not  part 
hating  each  other."  "  I  am  thankful,"  I  said,  "  for  I  feel 
now  how  hard  it  is  to  bear  the  thought  of  having  been  un- 
justly treated."  "  There's  no  injustice,"  said  my  aunt. 
"  Ralph  never  was  unjust  to  any  body.  Put  him  into  a 
court  to-morrow,  and  he  would  come  out  clear."  '•  Still," 
I  said,  "  it  is  strange  how  the  mistake  should  ever  have 
arisen ;  and  strange  that  my  uncle  should  have  allowed 
my  father  to  persevere  in  it."  "  He  did  not  allow  it,"  said 
my  aunt ;  "  you  yourself  heard  him  mention  the  contrary." 
"  But  I  do  not  think  my  father  ever  thoroughly  under- 
stood he  could  not  have  it,"  I  answered.  "  He  always  drew 
what  he  wanted ;  and  I  recollect  that  day  my  uncle  im- 
plied he  should  not  be  very  strict  in  his  reckoning.  He 
said  such  matters  were  easily  settled  between  brothers  " 
"  Easily  till  the  day  of  settlement  comes,"  said  my  aunt, 
"  and  then  there  is  not  a  worse  case  in  Christendom.  '  A 
brother  offended  is  harder  to  be  won  than  a  strong  city.' 
The  promise  ought  to  have  been  put  in  black  and  white 
at  the  beginning,  so  that  there  might  have  been  no  diffi- 
culty or  doubt  in  the  matter."  ^'  My  father  was  so  very 
confiding  in  his  disposition,"  I  said.  "  I  am  sure  he  never 
could  have  made  up  his  mind  to  do  anything  which  would 
appear  like  suspicion.'^  "  What !  not  to  see  after  his  own 
affairs  ?  "  exclaimed  my  aunt.  "  Why,  it's  nothing  but  a 
plain  duty.  I  tell  you  what,  Sally,  I  have  seen  a  good 
deal  in  my  days,  and  heard  a  good  deal  of  family  quarrels, 
and  there's  not  a  surer  way  of  causing  them  than  not 
being  exact  in  money  questions."  "  I  dare  say  you  are 
right,"  I  said  ;  "  but  there  is  an  immense  difference  be- 
tween brothers  and  sisters,  and  other  people.  What  is 
quite  natural  in  one  case,  seems  a  want  of  generosity  or 
trust  in  the  other."  "  And  what  is  the  end  ?  "  said  aunt 
Sarah.  "  People  begin  by  being  over  trusting,  and  end 
by  being  suspicious.  "  No,  Sally  ;  you  have  had  a  warn- 
ing,— be  thankful  things  are  not  worse  than  they  are. 
U 


242  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

You  are  all  friends  now,  and  you  have  not  quarrelled  with 
your  uncle  ;  keep  your  thoughts  to  yourself,  and  keep  your 
wishes  in  your  own  heart,  and  then  buy  a  large  account- 
book,  and  put  down  every  penny  you  spend ;  don't  be  a 
coward, — afraid  of  being  called  fidgetty  or  suspicious  ;  but 
if  things  are  to  be  done,  make  them  be  written  down  in 
black  and  white.  The  day  will  come  when  your  brothers 
and  sisters  will  bless  you  for  it.  And  remember  one 
thing,"  she  added,  as  the  door  opened,  and  Martha  ap- 
peared to  know  if  she  might  lay  the  cloth  for  dinner,  "  you 
would  have  been  a  great  deal  worse  off  if  your  uncle  Ralph 
had  not  been  exact."  "  Should  we  ?  "  I  felt  doubtful. 
"  Yes  ;  you  would  have  suspected  injustice,  and  may  be 
dishonesty,  and  you  would  have  said  it,  and  been  at  dag- 
ger's drawn  with  your  uncle  for  life." 

I  do  not  think  I  felt  very  much  the  reverse  then ; 
but,  at  any  rate,  the  feeling  was  hidden  in  my  own  breast, 
and  might  therefore  be  the  more  easily  subdued. 

I  was  disappointed  after  that  conversation.  I  had  no 
reason  to  be  so ;  but,  insensibly,  I  had  buoyed  myself  up 
with  the  idea  that  aunt  Sarah  would  suggest  something 
which  might  confirm  my  wishes,  and  even  put  me  in  the  way 
of  obtaining  them.  But  there  was  no  hope  of  that  now. 
We  were  left  solely  to  our  own  resources,  and  no  time 
was  to  be  lost  in  determining  our  future  plans.  I  cannot 
say  what  an  aggravation  to  the  bitterness  of  this  period 
was  my  uncle  Ralph's  apparent  consideration.  He  was  at 
East  Side  every  day,  entering  into  our  concerns  with  all 
the  interest  that  we  could  have  shown  in  them  ourselves. 
We  were  obliged  to  tell  him  where  we  had  been,  who  we 
had  seen,  what  letters  we  had  received  ;  and  it  was  all  I 
could  do  to  prevent  him  from  visiting  my  mother's  room, 
and  talking  over  events  with  her.  The  only  person  he  dis- 
liked conversing  with  was  myself.  We  had  an  instinctive 
feeding  of  aversion,  and  yet  we  were  for  ever  brought 
into  contact,  for  the  burden  of  our  arrangements  naturally 
devolved  upon  me.  The  harassing  thought  during  that 
time  was,  that  we  were  daily  incurring  a  debt  to  my  uncle, 
which  when  everything  was  settled,  we  might  not  be  able 
to  pay.  Butchers  and  bakers  wanted  money,  and  I  was 
obliged  to  ask  him  for  cheques.     They  were  given,  not  un- 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  243 

kindly,  but  never  without  an  injunction  to  be  economical^ 
and  a  request  that  he  might  look  over  our  housekeeping 
book,  I  could  willingly  have  picked  stones  at  a  shilling 
a  day,  if  it  had  been  possible  to  avoid  the  pain  of  this 
dependence  ;  but  it  was  my  trial,  specially  "needed  I  knew, 
by  my  naturally  proud  spirit,  and  I  tried,  as  aunt  Sarah 
had  long  ago  taught  me,  to  learn  the  lesson  appointed  for 
me.  Still,  it  was  a  duty,  for  every  one's  sake,  to  free  our- 
selves as  soon  as  possible,  and  now  that  my  mother  was  a 
little  more  accustomed  to  the  thought  of  leaving  East 
Side,  it  seemed  right  to  seek  for  some  house  in  Carsdale 
to  which  we  might  remove.  My  notion  was  to  begin  a 
day-school.  It  was  the  only  thing  which  could  be  done 
at  once  without  risk,  and  I  had  known  it  answer  in  Cars- 
dale  before.  It  would  not  support  us  comfortably,  but  it 
would  help  us  on  for  the  time,  and  to  have  taken  pupils 
in  our  own  house  at  once,  would  have  involved  an  outlay 
which  would  have  been  dangerous.  The  idea  was  gene- 
rally approved.  We  heard  from  Caroline  and  Reginald 
more  frequently  than  usual,  "  They  were  very  desirous," 
they  said,  "  to  know  how  we  were  going  on, — exceed 'ngly 
anxious  about  my  mother, — quite  sure  we  should  do  all 
that  was  right.  It  was  such  a  good  thing  that  my  health 
was  so  much  better ;  they  felt  that  all  depended  upon  me, 
and  they  hoped,  I  should  take  care  of  myself  I  must  eat 
and  drink,  and  take  sufficient  rest,  and  not  worry  myself 
Over  anxiety  was  my  fault."  Horatia  also  wrote,  "  We 
were  constantly  the  subject  of  conversation  between  her 
and  aunt  Colston.  They  both  sent  their  very  best  love, 
and  thought  that  just  for  the  present  the  day-school  might 
be  good ;  but  eventually  we  should,  of  course,  look  to 
something  better.  They  had  a  notion  that  there  was  a 
house  in  Castle-street  which  would  suit  us, — they  had 
often  said  it  was  a  charming  place  for  a  school.  Horatia 
only  regretted  that  she  was  not  able  to  give  us  her  assist- 
ance on  the  spot.  She  should  have  been  so  glad  to  help 
us  in  looking  out  for  a  house ;  but  aunt  Colston  was  ex- 
ceedingly unwell,  and  kept  in  London  by  her  medical 
man.  In  fact,  there  was  considerable  cause  for  uneasi- 
ness." The  postscript  of  the  letter  was  a  message  to 
uncle  Ralph,  Mr.  Mortimer,  as  he  was  called ;  "  that  she 


244  THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE. 

had  managed  the  little  business  they  had  been  talking 
over,  and  meant  to  write  to  him  soon  about  it." 

Vaughan  was  less  communicative  than  the  rest,  and 
when  he  did  write,  he  was  less  cheerful.  "  He  could  not," 
he  said,  ''  fix  his  attention  upon  business,  and  he  thought  a 
little  change  would  do  him  good,  so  he  was  going  for  a 
few  days'  shooting  into  the  country  with  a  friend.  He 
grieved,  more  than  he  could  tell,  for  us,  and  did  not  like 
the  notion  of  a  day-school ;  it  was  not  what  we  ought  to 
undertake.  Why  did  we  not  at  once  begin  upon  a  proper 
scale,  and  if  necessity  compelled  us  to  do  something  of 
the  kind,  do  it  in  the  best  way  ?  He  also  trusted  entirely 
to  me  for  my  mother's  comfort  and  my  sister's  support ; 
begged  me  to  drink  plenty  of  port  wine,  and  recommended 
meat  for  breakfast,  both  of  which  he  had  tried  himself 
with  great  success  when  overworked.  Especially,  I  was 
to  keep  my  mind  easy."  The  letters  were  brought  to  me 
at  the  same  moment  as  the  weekly  bills  ! 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

HoRATiA  was  right.  That  house  in  Castle-street  would 
do  admirably  for  a  school.  I  said  so  to  Hester,  though 
scarcely  enduring  the  thought  of  whose  suggestion  I  was 
following ;  and  we  settled  that  we  would  say  nothing  to 
my  mother,  but  go  and  look  at  it.  Accordingly,  we  drove 
into  Carsdale  the  first  day  we  could.  Our  acquaintances 
looked  at  us  with  interest,  and  stopped,  and  inquired  for 
my  mother  ;  and  the  shopkeepers,  I  saw,  fancied  we  were 
going  to  make  purchases.  It  was  all  very  like  old  times, 
as  we  passed  quickly  through  the  streets,  for  there  were 
just  the  same  faces,  and  the  same  sounds  and  sights,  and 
the  world  was  going  on  precisely  in  its  old  course.  There 
was  a  gulf  between  us,  but  no  one  saw  it  or  seemed  to  see 
it.  I  thought  I  knew  the  outward  appearance  of  the  house 
in  Castle-street ;  I  used  to  fancy  it  rather  pleasant-look- 
ing, with  its  two  large  bow-windows,  and  the  few  shrubs 
before  it ;  but  it  looked  completely  altered  now, — so  old^ 
so  dirty,  unpainted,  and  decayed — it  was  like  another 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  245 

place.  Hester's  composure  nearly  gave  way  when  we  went 
into  it.  She  was  doing  all  she  could  to  keep  up  her  spir- 
its, but  sorrow  was  very  new  to  her.  The  rent  was  too 
high,  that  was  the  great  objection,  though  Hester  said  it 
would  require  a  fortune  spent  upon  it  to  make  it  habitable. 
She  did  not  yet  understand  what  a  desperate  case  ours 
was.  The  woman  who  had  the  care  of  the  house  insisted 
upon  our  going  all  over  it,  though  I  was  sure,  from  the 
first  moment,  that  it  would  be  more  than  we  could  under- 
take ;  and  when  she  found  that  we  were  not  willing  to 
come  to  an  agreement,  she  grew  sulky,  and  was  almost 
impertinent.  A's  we  left  the  house,  Hester  asked  if  that 
would  not  do  for  one  day ;  there  could  be  nothing  else  in 
Carsdale  that  would  suit  us  ;  might  we  not  wait  the  chance 
of  hearing  of  something  else?  But  I  would  not  yield. 
The  next  day  would  be  just  as  trying  as  the  present ;  and 
we  could  not  expect  houses  to  be  pointed  out  to  us,  ready 
prepared,  when  we  would  not  take  the  trouble  to  search  for 
them — so  we  went  on.  Some  lodgings  we  looked  at.  I 
did  not  think  they  would  suit,  yet  it  was  well  to  leave 
nothing  neglected.  But  we  were  unsuccessful  in  all.  We 
were  obliged,  before  we  went  back,  to  go  to  Long's,  the 
linendraper's ;  and  at  Long's  we  met  Lady  Emily  Rivers. 
She  asked  us  to  walk  with  her  to  Miss  Green's,  and  then 
she  stopped,  and  hesitated  a  little,  and  added,  we  should 
meet  Miss  Grant  there,  and  perhaps  her  brother.  I  saw 
she  was  afraid  we  might  dislike  seeing  them,  and  I  did 
shrink  from  it,  but  it  would  have  been  silly  to  give  way 
to  the  feeling.  We  must  meet  our  friends  before  long, 
and  the  sooner  the  effort  was  made  the  better ;  and,  besides, 
it  might  be  a  little  pleasure  to  Hester. 

Miss  Grant  was  more  than  ever  pleasing  to  me  ;  it  was 
really  a  relief  to  my  spirits  to  see  her.  She  was  a  person 
whose  sincere  goodness  was  so  evident  in  everything  she 
did  or  said.  I  am  sure  the  most  suspicious  person  could 
have  found  nothing  in  her  to  distrust.  Talking  to  her 
and  to  Lady  Emily  carried  me  back  for  a  little  while  over 
the  gulf,  and  I  felt  as  if  it  might  be  still  possible  to  live 
for  something  besides  duty  and  endurance.  But  we  are 
BO  selfish,  both  in  our  sorrows  and  our  joys  !  There  was 
Miss  Green  standing  by  us,  looking  very  pale  and  ill,  and 


246  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

in  deep  mourning,  and  I  never  thought  about  her  or  re- 
marked anything  peculiar  in  her  manner,  till  she  mid  to 
Lady  Emily,  in  a  melancholy  voice,  that  she  was  afraid 
she  should  not  be  able  to  undertake  any  more  large  orders, 
as  she  was  going  to  remove  from  the  house  and  give  up 
the  millinery  business,  and  keep  only  to  dressmaking. 
That  speech  did  attract  my  attention,  and  awakened  self- 
reproach,  for  I  saw  she  was  suffering  from  some  great  grief. 
Sophia  Grant  had  a  peculiar  faculty  for  bringing  people 
out  and  making  them  talk  about  themselves ;  and  she  said 
a  feW  words  which  evidently  touched  poor  Miss  Green's 
heart,  and  in  a  few  minutes  her  story  wa/  told  in  detail. 
She  had  just  lost  an  only  sister,  her  great  help,  in  fact, 
the  managing  person  of  the  business.  She  had  not  the 
skill  to  keep  it  on  by  herself,  and  she  could  not  afford  to 
pay  any  one  to  take  her  sister's  place,  and  therefore  she 
was  going  away.  She  had  lived  in  the  house,  she  told  us, 
twelve  years,  and  was  very  fond  of  it ;  but,  of  course,  she 
could  not  remain  there  without  business.  It  was  a  very 
good  house.  There  was  the  show-room  up  stairs,  and 
a  work-room  besides,  and  several  bed-rooms,  for  some 
of  the  young  women  who  worked  for  her  lived  with 
her.  A  pang  shot  through  me  ;  perhaps  the  house  would 
do  for  us.  I  was  superstitious  also.  The  day  of  that  first 
meeting  with  aunt  Colston  I  had  wondered  what  interest 
life  could  have  in  such  a  house ;  now,  perhaps,  I  was  to 
try.  I  asked  a  few  more  questions  about  the  house. 
Miss  Green's  face  brightened  up  a  little.  It  had  been  her 
chief  difficulty,  as  she  had  a  lease  of  two  years  remaining; 
if  she  could  find  any  one  to  take  it,  it  would  be,  she  said,  a 
great  help  to  her.  Furniture  and  all  she  would  either 
part  with,  or  let  at  a  reasonable  rate,  if  she  could  ;  for  she 
must  go  into  a  lodging  herself,  and  the  person  she  wished 
to  be  with  had  only  furnished  lodgings.  Did  we  know  of 
any  one  whom  the  house  might  suit?  she  should  be  so 
very  much  obliged  ;  and  she  begged  us  to  walk  up  stairs 
and  look  at  the  other  apartments.  Hester  came  behind, 
and  asked  me,  in  a  low  voice,  where  I  was  going ;  surely 
I  could  not  think  the  house  would  suit  us.  I  merely  said 
that  there  was  no  harm  in  going  over  it,  and  I  saw  that 
Lady  Emily  approved,  though  she  was  very  grave  and  sad. 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE.  247 

The  house  was  really  pleasant  in  the  upper  rooms,  and  the 
show-room  would  do  very  well  for  my  pUpils.  If  it  had 
only  been  in  another  street  it  would  have  been  just  the 
thing ;  but  how  would  my  mother  bear  the  sight  of  the 
blank  wall  of  the  brewery  ?  And,  as  if  to  mock  me  by 
the  contrast,  there  came  before  me  the  remembrance  of  the 
lovely  view  from  East  Side^  the  woods  and  the  river,  and 
the  distant  hills,  with  the  glorious  sunshine  streaming 
upon  them,  and  the  glad,  pure  sky,  above  them.  My  poor 
mother,  with  her  delight  in  freedom,  her  appreciation  of 
beauty,  how  could  she  bear  the  change  ?  Miss  Green,  I 
saw,  observed  my  manner  with  anxiety ;  and  when  she 
told  us  what  the  rent  would  be,  added,  that  she  did  not 
think  there  was  any  other  house  in  Carsdale  to  be  let  so 
cheap.  That,  indeed,  I  felt  certain  of,  and  I  said  she 
should  hear  from  me  in  a  day  or  two.  She  was  very  grate- 
ful, and  owned  it  would  be  a  great  comfort  to  know  that 
the  house  was  disposed  of;  but  a  most  mournful  expres- 
-sion  came  over  her  face  at  the  same  time,  and  she  said  it 
would  be  a  terrible  trial  to  leave  the  house,  she  dreaded 
to  think  of  it.  Yes,  the  black  chairs,  and  the  black  sofa, 
and  the  mahogany  chiffonier,  had  all  a  charm  for  her  ! 

"  Don't  you  think  it  will  do  ?"  I  said  to  Lady  Emily, 
as  we  turned  away.  "  If  it  is  necessary  it  should,"  was 
her  reply  ;  "  but,  Sarah,  you  must  consider  your  mother." 
"  Certainly,"  I  replied,  "  and  I  would  do  so  to  the  utmost; 
but  it  will  be  no  kindness  to  let  her  incur  expenses  which 
will  add  to  the  load  she  has  already  upon  her  spirits.  I 
would  not  take  a  house  in  such  a  situation  if  it  could  b  e 
helped  ;  but  if  there  is  no  choice,  what  are  we  to  do  ?  " 
"  It  seems  hard,"  replied  Lady  Emily,  "  that  with  so 
many  relations,  there  should  be  such  a  necessity."  "  My 
mother  will  never  bear  dependence,"  I  replied.  "But. 
she  is  dependent  upon  you."  "  That  is  different,"  I  said, 
"  it  is  not  dependence,  it  is  merely  receiving  what  is  her 
due."  "  And  you  will  sink  under  it  all,"  continued  Lady 
Emily.  "  You  are  looking  very  unwell  now."  I  did  not 
feel  ill,  that  is,  not  more  so  than  usual,  and  I  put  aside 
the  idea  directly,  and  asserted  that  I  should  be  quite  equal 
to  the  burden.  Lady  Emily  seemed  very  doubtful,  and 
said  what  my  brothers  and  sisters  had  said,  that  I  waa 


248  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

over  anxious,  and  needed  rest  and  quietness  of  mind ;  but 
then  she  added,  that  she  hoped  I  should  be  able  occasion- 
ally to  come  to  Lowood,  for  a  holiday,  from  Saturday  till 
Monday,  at  least ;  and  though  I  saw  no  hope  of  any  such 
change,  it  comforted  me  to  think  that  there  was  some  one 
in  the  world  who,  besides  recommending  rest,  would  put 
me,  if  possible,  in  the  way  of  obtaining  it. 

Hester  and  Miss  Grant  were  all  this  time  walking  to- 
gether. Hester  was  talking  with  something  more  ap- 
proaching to  animation  than  I  had  yet  observed.  I  was 
so  pleased  to  see  her  pleased,  even  for  a  moment,  that  I 
willingly  acceded  to  Lady  Emily's  proposition,  that  she 
should  remain  with  them  whilst  they  were  in  the  town, 
and  meet  me  at  aunt  Sarah's  in  two  hours'  time.  "  I  am 
glad,  too,  for  Sophy's  sake,"  added  Lady  Emily.  "  She 
has  been  talking  so  continually  about  Hester."  A  natu- 
ral connection  of  ideas  made  me  ask  where  Mr.  Beresford 
was.  "  Ii^  Carsdale,  I  believe,"  said  Lady  Emily ;  '-at 
least,  we  left  .him  at  the  turnpike,  with  the  understanding 
that  he  was  to  find  occupation  for  himself  in  the  town, 
whilst  we  were  at  the  dressmaker's.  Wherever  Sophy  is, 
you  may  be  tolerably  sure  that  he  is  not  very  far  off ; — 
and  here  he  is."  Mr.  Beresford  came  up  to  us  just  as  we 
were  at  the  corner  of  the  street  where  we  were  to  separate. 
His  cordial  shake  of  the  hand  was  full  of  his  sister's  quick 
sympathy;  and  he  congratulated  Sophia  upon,  having  Hes- 
ter as  a  companion,  with  an  air  of  sincerity  which  made  me 
feel  still  more  kindly  towards  him.  I  recollected  Lady 
Emily's  observation  as  to  his  admiration  of  beauty,  and 
wondered  whether  the  contrast  of  the  two  would  strike 
him.  Hester's  face,  calmed  and  saddened,  was  even  more 
winning  now  than  in  its  gay  loveliness,  whilst  Sophia  was 
not  looking  her  best,  for  she  wore  rather  an  unbecoming 
bonnet ;  but  I  would  not  have  given  her  beauty — it  would 
not  have  suited  her  character.  Perhaps  Mr.  Beresford 
thought  the  same. 

"  Grood-bye,"  I  said  to  Lady  Emily,  "  and  thank  you 
for  having  given  me  half  an  hour's  comfort."  Mr.  Beres- 
ford turned  round  quickly.  "  You  are  not  going  to  leave 
us  so  soon  ?  "  "I  am,  but  not  my  sister,  if  Lady  Emily 
will    kindly    take    charge    of    her    for    another    hour" 


r 

THE   EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  249 

"  Oh  ! " — his  politeness  embarrassed  him.  He  did  not 
know  whether  to  he  glad  or  sorry  first ;  but  I  helped  him 
out  of  his  difficulty,  by  saying  something  myself  about 
wishing  I  could  stay,  which,  of  course,  he  echoed,  and 
then  we  parted  company.  Mr.  Beresford  offered  his 
arm  to  his  sister ;  Hester  and  Miss  Grant  walked  on  to- 
gether, and  I  pursued  my  way  to  aunt  Sarah's. 

I  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  gulf  then,  lonely,  weary, 
and  sick  at  heart.  The  burden  that  was  upon  me  seemed 
almost  overpowering.  For  a  moment  I  thought  that  it 
was  hard  I  should  be  called  upon  to  bear  it ;  and  then  I 
remembered  my  mother,  and  reproached  myself  bitterly 
for  my  want  of  resignation,  and  for  not  being  willing  to 
work  to  any  extent,  for  any  length  of  time  for  her. 

Aunt  Sarah  was  not  at  all  well  that  day.  She  was 
growing  very  feeble,  and  her  lameness  made  it  a  great 
exertion  to  her  to  move.  Miss  Cole  had  once  or  twice, 
lately,  tried  to  persuade  her  not  to  come  down  stairs,  but 
to  sit  in  the  drawing-room  instead  ;  but  she  would  not 
hear  of  it.  "  Her  own  place,"  she  said,  "  in  her  own 
house, — that  was  all  the  change  she  wanted, — and  she 
wished  to  have  it  to  the  last ;  and  when  she  was  past 
having  it,  she  would  take  to  her  bed,  and  prepare  for  the 
home  where  she  should  never  want  change." 

But  she  was  often  very  late  in  getting  down  stairs ; 
and  when  I  reached  the  house  at  one  o'clock,  she  was  only 
just  placed  in  her  chair.  Her  face  brightened  up  at  see- 
ing me,  as  I  used  to  please  myself  with  thinking  it  always 
did,  and  Miss  Cole  told  me  she  had  mentioned  several 
times  that  she  wished  I  might  come.  So  I  felt  myself  a 
welcome  visitor,  which  is  always  a  comfortable  conscious- 
ness, and  I  could  have  been  cheered,  only  the  face  I  loved 
was  so  shrivelled,  the  eyes  were  so  sunk,  the  hands  so  thin 
and  cold.  She  had  not  had  her  usual  reading  that  morn- 
ing, and  before  she  would  ask  me  any  questions.  Miss 
Cole  and  I  stood  by  her,  and  went  through  the  morning 
psalms,  and  each  of  us  read  one  of  the  lessons.  Formerly 
she  used  to  follow  us  with  her  own  book,  but  her  sight  had 
become  very  dim  lately.  She  repeated  the  alternate  verses 
of  the  psalms,  however,  without  a  mistake.  When  ihe  read- 
ing was  finished,  and  the  books  were  put  away,  and  Miss 
11* 


250  THE    EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE. 

Cole  had  left  us  together,  she  looked  at  me  with  one  of 
her  former  quick  glances,  and  said,  "  Now,  Sally,  begin  ;  " 
and  in  regular  form — a  form  which  I  had  naturally  fallen 
into — I  went  on  without  interruption,  telling  her  all  I 
thought  she  would  care  to  know.  I  must,  I  suppose. 
have  betrayed  a  good  deal  of  what  had  been  passing  in 
my  own  mind,  for  when  I  paused  she  said,  "  It  won't  do, 
Sally;  you  can't  go  on  leading  this  kind  of  life,  it  will  kill 
vou."  "  But,  dear  aunt  Sarah,"  I  said,  "  how  is  it  to  be 
helped  ?  If  I  do  not  do  the  things,  who  is  there  that 
will  ?  "  "  True  enough,"  she  replied,  •'  more's  the  pity.  And 
so  you  mean  to  teach  the  children  at  Betsey  Grreen's  house, 
when  you  get  there  :  but  where  will  you  find  them  1 "  Mrs. 
Blair,  I  said,  would  probably  send  me  her  two  little  girls, 
for  w>3  had  often  talked  about  their  education.  "  That  will 
be  two ;  suppose  you  have  ten,  it  won't  be  so  much  help." 
"  No,"  I  replied,  "and  that  was  the  point  which  vexed  me  ;" 
but  still  I  was  sure  that  such  a  beginning  would  be  better 
than  entering  into  large  expenses,  as  we  must  do  if  we  took 
boarders.  As  to  work,  I  did  not  think  about  it ;  all  that  I 
cared  for  was  to  support  my  mother."  "And  who  made  it 
your  duty  to  support  her  ? "  asked  my  aunt,  a  little  sharply. 
I  did  not  answer,  for  I  really  did  not  quite  understand  her. 
"  Which  is  the  nearest  related  to  your  mother  of  all  her 
children?"  continued  aunt  Sarah.  I.  smiled. — of  course 
we  were  all  related  in  the  same  degree.  ''  Then,  of  course, 
you  have  all  got  the  same  duty,"  was  the  rejoinder.  I 
sighed ;  it  was  very  true,  but  it  was  not  much  comfort. 
'•  My  brothers  have  enough  to  do  to  support  themselves, 
and  Caroline  has  a  family,"  I  said.  "  And  have  not  you 
enough  to  do  to  support  yourself?"  replied  aunt  Sarah; 
"  and  as  to  Caroline,  she  has  enough  for  her  children,  and 
plenty  to  spare."  "  But,"  I  said,  "  it  is  very  well  to  argue 
the  case  in  theory,  but  it  will  not  do  in  practice.  Some 
one  must  undertake  the  labour  and  the  responsibility; 
and  as  no  one  else  seems  willing  to  come  forward,  or, 
indeed,  except  Caroline,  seems  able  to  do  so,  why  I  must." 
"  Undertake  as  much  labour  as  you  like,  child, — work  from 
morning  till  night  if  you  will, — but  never  undertake  a 
responsibility  which  does  not  belong  to  you.  If  you  do 
you  will  surely  rue  it."    "  But  it  comes  naturally  with  the 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  251 

labour,"  I  said.  "  No,  Sally ;  you  are  wrong.  This  is 
how  the  case  stands : — there  are  seven  of  you,  brothers 
and  sisters,  all  equally  able  to  work,  all  having  an  equal 
duty.  Some  of  you  may  make  more  money,  and  some 
less,  and  so  some  may  give  more  and  some  less ;  but  the 
duty  of  giving  is  the  same  share  for  each,  and  if  you 
take  all  the  shares,  you  do  wrong  to  them  and  wrong  to 
yourself."  '•  I  think,  aunt  Sarah,  you  would  feel  differ- 
ently if  you  were  in  my  place,"  I  replied.  "  Then,  Sally, 
I  should  be  an  idiot ;  and,  what  is  more,  I  should  be  pun- 
ished for  it.  .  I  will  tell  you  what  will  surely  come  to  pass, 
if  you  don't  act  wisely  in  this  matter.  You  will  begin  by 
allowing  that  it  is  your  duty  to  support  your  mother,  and 
they  will  all  praise  you,  and  thank  you,  and  call  you  an 
angel ;  and  by-and-by  you  will  find  that  you  can't  support 
her,  and  then  you  will  go  to  them  and  ask  for  help,  and 
may-be  they'll  give  it ;  but  they  won't  think  they  are 
giving  to  her^  but  to  you ;  and  so  they  will  talk  about 
debt  and  obligation,  and  you  will  know  there  is  no  obliga- 
tion, and  say  they  are  unjust ;  and  they  will  be  angry, 
because  they  have  never  learnt  to  see  their  duty  clearly, 
and  then  you'll  quarrel.  No,  child, — take  your  own  share, 
and  lot  them  take  theirs,  and  then  see  if  you  can't  make 
the  world  go  smoothly  between  you."  "  I  am  afraid,"  I 
said,  "  I  should  like  to  feel  that  I  was  labouring  to  sup- 
port my  mother  and  sisters  by  my  own  exertions."  "Ah! 
there  it  is,"  replied  aunt  Sarah ;  '•  we  can  all  be  martyrs 
as  we  fancy,  but  we  can't  be  sensible  men  and  women. 
'Your  sisters  indeed  !  why  are  not  they  to  support  them- 
selves 1 "  "  They  will,  in  a  certain  way,"  I  said,  '•  if  they 
live  in  the  same  house  and  help  me  with  the  children." 
"  To  be  sure  ;  but  mind  you  make  them  help  ;  and  make 
them  feel  that  it  is  their  business."  "  They  are  neither  of 
them  very  competent,  I  am  afraid,"  I  said,  "  and  Hester 
is  not  at  all  strong."  "  And  so  if  Hester  grows  sickly, 
and  runs  up  a  doctor's  bill,  I  suppose  you  will  think  that 
is  all  your  concern  too."  "  It  will  seem  so,"  I  replied, 
*  if  we  are  living  in  the  same  house."  "  Why  Sally," 
exclaimed  my  aunt,  ''  you  are  a  greater  goose  than  I  took 
you  to  be.  What  has  living  in  the  same  house  to  do  with 
the  matter  ?     Does  it  make  Reginald,  and  Yaughan,  and 


253  THE    EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

Caroline,  one  whit  less  Hester's  brothers  and  sisters  ? 
"  No,  but  it  makes  a  difference  in  feeling,  and — " 
"  What  ? "  "  Perhaps  my  brothers  may  be  wishing  tc 
marry,  and  not  be  able  to  afford  the  money."  "  And  per- 
haps you  may  be  wishing  the  same,  what  then  ? "  The 
question  was  unanswerable ;  though  I  smiled  at  the  sup- 
position. "  Wishing  to  be  married  is  a  fine  excuse  for  a 
good  many  things,"  continued  aunt  Sarah ;  "  but  it  is  not 
a  true  one.  When  we  have  taken  care  of  the  relations 
whom  God  has  given  us,  then  is  the  time  to  begin  to  think 
of  forming  new  ones  of  our  own  ;  but  that  is  neither  here 
nor  there.  Do  you  see  now,  Sally,  that  it's  only  reason  to 
say  that  you  are  not  one  whit  more  bound  to  support  your 
sisters  than  your  brothers  and  Caroline  are  ? "  "  We 
must  hope  that  we  shall  all  be  able  to  support  ourselves," 
I  said,  trying  a  little  to  evade  the  question.  ^'  Hope,  if 
you  like,  only  make  up  your  mind  what  you  will  do  if 
hope  fails ;  for  it  will  be  the  same  case  here  as  with 
regard  to  your  mother.  If  you  allow  yourself  to  be  held 
responsible  for  more  than  your  fair  shar«  of  the  family 
burden,  the  time  will  come  when  you  will  all  quarrel,  and 
the  sin  of  the  quarrel  will  lie  at  your  door."  "  I  don't 
think  I  should  ever  quarrel  with  any  of  them,"  I  said. 
"  But  you  will  feel  unkindly,  and  you  will  think  them 
ungrateful,  and  what  is  to  prevent  them  from  finding  it 
out?" 

"  Oh  !  aunt  Sarah  ! "  I  exclaimed,  "  I  wish  you  had 
never  said  these  things  to  me,  they  make  me  feel  so  hard 
and  selfish  ;  and  I  could  work  with  such  pleasure  for  them  •» 
all,  and  never  let  them  know  that  it  was  a  trouble."  "  And 
half  kill  yourself  with  anxiety,"  said  aunt  Sarah ;  '•  and 
then  turn  round  upon  them  ;  and  think,  if  you  did  not 
say,  '  See  what  I  have  done,  how  I  have  sacrificed  myself 
for  you ;'  and  what  do  you  think  they  would  answer  ?  '  We 
never  asked  you  to  do  it.'"  "No,  no,"  I  exclaimed, 
"there  is  npt  one  of  them  who  would  say  so."  "  Then 
they  would  not  be  human  beings,"  replied  my  aunt. 
"  They  might  not  say  so  in  words,  any  more  than  you 
might;  though  the  chances  are  that  they  would;  but  they 
would  think  it.  It  is  only  a  form,  Sally,  of  putting  per- 
sons under  unfair  obligations.      You  ask  a  man  for  five 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  253 

pounds  and  lie  gives  you  five  hundred,  and  ruins  himself 
What  right  has  he  to  turn  round  upon  you,  and  say  that 
you  are  bound  to  him  hand  and  foot,  because  he  acted  like 
a  fool  to  please  you?  You  would  not  have  allowed  him 
to  do  it,  if  you  had  known  it.  And  so  with  your  brothers 
and  sisters,  if  you  let  them  go  on  thinking  you  can  man- 
age without  their  help,  when  the  time  comes  that  you 
can't  manage  it, — and  you  will  surely  work  yourself  ill^ 
there's  not  one  who  won't  feel  he  has  a  right  to  complain 
instead  of  to  be  thankful. 

I  still  felt  disinclined  to  yield  the  point.  It  was  con- 
trary to  the  dreams  of  self-sacrifice  in  which  I  had  for 
years  indulged,  and  whatever  my  reason  might  say,  it  still 
did  appear  to  be  a  cold  and  selfish  view  of  the  duties  al- 
lotted to  me.  Yet,  aunt  Sarah  was  certainly  an  unpreju- 
diced judge,  and  her  experience  of  the  world  had  been 
much  greater  than  mine.  I  could  not  put  aside  her  no- 
tions as  I  might  those  of  another  person ;  but  I  tried  to 
make  her  alter  her  opinions  by  bringing  forward  what  I 
considered  the  impossibility  of  taking  a  different  line  of 
conduct  from  that  which  I  had  proposed.  "  I  could  not,"  I 
said,  "  ask  my  brothers  and  sisters  for  help ;  if  they  of- 
fered it,  well  and  good;  but  to  ask  was  impossible." 
"  And  why  impossible  ?  "  was  her  reply.  "  Because  you 
have,  what  the  world  calls,  a  generous  mind.  But  remem- 
ber, good  people,-^and  I  call  you  good,  not  .because  you 
are  so,  but  because  you  wish  to  be  so, — good  people  sin  in 
their  virtues,  as  well  as  bad  people  in  their  vices.-  Gene- 
rosity is  a  valuable  quality,  but  justice  is  so  too  ;  and, 
may  be,  one  is  better  than  the  other,  because  the  world 
thinks  less  of  it.  And  if  you  ever  wish  to  be  generous, 
you  must  begin  by  being  just, — ^just  to  yourself  as  well  as 
to  your  neighbours."  "  Here,"  she  added,  and  she  took 
up  the  Bible,  "  I  will  show  you  what  will  satisfy  you  more 
than  anything  I  can  say.  See  how  St.  Paul  acted  when 
he  was  giving  up  what  was  his  fair  right  for  the  good  of 
the  Church.  Did  he  let  folks  go  on  fancying  it  was  his 
duty  ?  No,  Sally ;  he  was  far  too  wise  a  man  for  that." 
She  made  me  turn  to  the  9th  chapter  of  the  1st  Epistle 
to  the  Corinthians,  and  read,  "  Mine  answer  to  them  that 
do  examine  me,  is  this,  Have  we  not  power  to  eat  and 


254  THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE. 

to  drink  ?  Have  we  not  power  to  lead  about  a  sister,  a 
wife,  as  well  as  other  apostles,  and  as  the  brethren  of  the 
Lord  and  Cephas  ?  Or  I  only  and  Barnabas,  have  not  we 
power  to  forbear  working  ?  Who  goeth  a  warfare  at  any 
time  at  his  own  charges  ?  Who  planteth  a  vineyard,  and 
eateth  not  of  the  fruit  thereof?  or  who  feedeth  a  flock, 
and  eateth  not  of  the  milk  of  the  flock?  Do  ye  not 
know  that  they  which  minister  about  holy  things,  live  of 
the  things  of  the  temple,  and  they  which  wait  at  the  altar, 
are  partakers  with  the  altar  ?  Even  so  hath  the  Lord  or- 
dained that  they  which  preach  the  Gospel,  should  live  of 
the  Gospel.  But  I  have  used  none  of  these  things." 
"  Now  Sally,"  said  my  aunt,  as  I  concluded,  '•  if  you  had 
been  in  St.  Paul's  place,  you  never  would  have  said  that. 
You  would  have  gone  on  working  till  your  death,  and  not 
ventured  a  word  for  fear  of  being  thought  ungenerous." 
I  smiled  and  allowed  myself  to  be  half  conquered.  "You 
must  be  quite  conquered,  before  you  leave  me,"  continued 
my  aunt,  "  there's  a  little  vanity  and  a  little  cowardice  at 
the  bottom  of  it  all.  Vanity  and  cowardice."  she  repeat- 
ed, and  she  smiled  and  tapped  me  kindly  on  the  shoulder. 
'•'  Vanity,  because  you  like  to  think  what  a  character  you 
will  have  for  doing  so  much  for  your  family  ;  and  cowar- 
dice, because  you  can't  bear  the  chance  of  black  looks." 
She  stroked  my  head  while  she  spoke,  as  she  used  to  do 
when  I  was  a  child,  and  she  had  been  scolding  me,  and 
wished  to  make  friends  again.  I  told  her  she  was  very 
hard  upon  me,  and  I  would  not  own  she  was  correct 
till  I  had  thought  more  about  it;  but,  in  the  mean  time, 
I  must  bring  her  to  acknowledge  that  St.  Paul  worked 
in  spite  of  his  words.  "  To  be  sure,"  she  answered,  "  and 
so  must  you  work  too  5  only  don't  let  other  people  sit  idle. 
And  now,  child,  when  you  go  home,  think  over  what  your 
needs  are  likely  to  be,  and  how  they  are  to  be  provided  ; 
and  remember  that  it  must  be  joint  shares  for  your  moth- 
er, and  those  who  have  the  most  must  be  made  to  give  the 
most.  When  you've  settled  the  matter  to  your  own  con- 
Bciencej  come  to  me  and  I'll  tell  you  what  my  Share  will 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    ItFE.  255 


CHAPTER    XXX. 


I  DO  not  think  even  aunt  Sarah  knew  what  a  task  she  had 
imposed  upon  me.  I  felt  quite  disheartened.  Not  that 
I  had  ever  in  my  heart  imagined  that  the  day  school 
would  support  us,  let  me  work  ever  so  hard,  but  I  was 
very  little  accustomed  to  business,  and  I  had  a  vague  idea, 
that,  in  some  way,  when  .the  little  property,  which  my  fa- 
ther possessed,  was  sold,  there  would  be  a  surplus ;  and 
with  this  I  hoped  we  might  manage,  especially  as  I  did 
not  think  that  my  brothers  and  sisters  would  really  allow 
the  whole  burden  to  fall  upon  me.  Hester  would  work, 
and  the  others  would  make  us  presents,  I  was  sure.  Even 
Mr.  Blair  might,  if  Caroline  suggested  it ;  and  this  would 
be  kind  in  them,  and  dutiful  to  my  mother.  But  to  claim 
any  assistance  as  a  duty,  was  so  repugnant  to  every  cher- 
ished feeling,  that  not  even  aunt  Sarah's  assertion  could 
thoroughly  convince  me  it  was  a  necessary  step.  Still  I 
did  what  she  had  desired,  and  the  result  was,  as  might  have 
been  expected,  very  alarming.  My  uncle  had  ordered  the 
furniture  and  farming  stock  to  be  appraised,  so  that  we 
had  a  fair  knowledge  of  their  value.  It  was  very  much 
what  he  had  imagined,  and  after  giving  up  the  settlement 
'money,  there  was  a  prospect  of  being  relieved  from  the 
old  debt  to  him,  and  from  the  new  ones  which  we  were  at 
the  time  incurring  for  our  housekeeping.  But  the  future 
was  very  hopeless.  I  summoned  Herbert  to  my  counsels, 
and  related  the  conversation  with  aunt  Sarah.  He  was  a 
curious  mixture  of  shrewdness  and  open-heartedness,  and 
saw  much  more  quickly  than  I  did  where  the  comparative 
duties  of  the  different  members  of  the  family  began  and 
ended.  "  Of  course,"  he  said,  "  my  mother's  comfort  was 
the  common  care  of  all  her  children.  She  ought  to  have 
a  hundred  a  year  provided  for  her.  Caroline  ought  to 
give  fifty."  I  started  back  in  consternation.  "  Ask  Caro- 
line to  allow  my  mother  fifty  pounds  a  year !  I  should 
as  soon  hope  to  prevail  upon  the  Prime  Minister  to  give 
her  a  pension."  Herbert  only  smiled,  and  wrote  down 
Caroline's  name  on  a  slip  of  paper,  with  501.  opposite  to 
it.     Reginald,  20/.  followed ;  he  had  a  good  salary,  and 


256  THE    EXPEEIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

could  afford  it.  Vauglian  151. ;  his  profession  was  not 
very  lucrative,  and  varied  a  good  deal.  It  would  not  do 
to  overtax  him.  Herbert  15/.  I  caught  the  pencil  from 
his  hand  and  exclaimed, "  Oh,  Herbert,  this  is  too  silly, 
why  you  have  not  a  penny  in  the  world."  "  But  I  am  gO' 
ing  to  have,  I  am  going  to  be  usher  in  Mr.  Harrison's 
school,  with  sixty  pounds  a  year."  I  could  not  speak, — I 
did  not  know  till  that  moment  how  proud  I  was.  '- 1  saw 
Mr.  Harrison  yesterday,"  he  continued,  "  and  we  all  but 
settled  it."  "  Without  asking  any  person's  advice  ?  "  I 
said,  "  I  don't  think  that  was  quite  wise."  He  looked  a 
little  disconcerted  for  an  instant,  and  then  answered : 
"  You  know,  Sarah,  we  are  just  now  in  such  a  plight  that 
we  must  think  for  ourselves,  and  there  is  no  one  to  think 
for  us.  As  for  false  pride,  we  had  better  put  it  away  and 
forget  it  as  soon  as  we  can.  And,  as  for  true  pride,  if 
there  is  such  a  thing,  though  you  always  tell  me  to  call  it 
self-respect,  I  feel  as  much  for  myself  as  you  can  for  me, 
But,  in  my  own  opinion,  it  is  far  more  humiliating  to  go 
on  living  at  the  expense  of  those  who  can't  afford  it,  or  else 
incurring  an  obligation  which  one  may  never  be  able  to 
repay,  than  it  is  to  accept  an  honest  means  of  supporting 
oneself,  though  it  may  not  be  exactly  that  which  the  world 
would  say  one  was  born  to  expect."  He  was  right  in 
principle. — I  could  not  hesitate  to  acknowledge  it,  but, 
boy -like,  he  had  been  hasty.  "  Was  there  really  nothing 
else  1 "  "  Yes,  the  Bank."  He  had  been  offered  a  clerk- 
ship in  the  Bank,  and  refused  it.  I  gave  him  a  kiss,  and 
thanked  him  with  all  my  heart.  "  I  am  glad  you  think  I 
was  right,"  he  said,  a  glow  of  satisfaction  brightening  his 
face.  "  My  uncle  was  very  pressing,  and  said  a  great 
deal  about  the  satisfaction  he  should  feel  in  helping  us. 
But,  somehow, — is  it  very  wrong,  Sarah? — I  think  I 
could  go  out  as  a  day  labourer,  and  be  happy,  but  I  don't 
think  I  could  bear  to  be  working  with  uncle  Ralph." 
"  No,"  I  said  earnestly, "  not  if  he  were  to  offer  you  five 
hundred  a  year,  now,  and  a  share  in  the  business  by-and- 
Dy."  "  I  thought  over  the  matter  a  good  deal  afterwards," 
continued  Herbert ;  "  and,  at  first,  it  seemed  wrong,  and 
as  if  one  was  indulging  fancies  and  suspicions.  But,  really 
I  am  not  suspicious.     I  am  quite  sure  that  all  which  go<eg 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP    LIFE.  257 

on  at  the  bank  is  strictly  honest, — not  honourable,  but 
honest, — I  don't  believe  there  is  a  wilful  flaw  in  the  ac- 
counts from  one  year's  end  to  another  ;  but  it  is  the  grasp- 
ing, covetous  spirit,  which  I  never  could  stand, — to  be 
mixed  up  with  it — to  have  to  do  the  dirty  work  of  such  a 
business, — it  would  fret  my  life  out.  You  know  my  father 
never  encouraged  the  notion  when  it  was  proposed  be- 
fore. Now,  at  Mr.  Harrison's  I  do  know  what  I  under- 
take, and  it  is  not  the  kind  of  work  I  dislike,  and  I  mean 
to  study  hard  and  be  very  saving."  "  Upon  sixty  pounds 
a  year,  with  fifteen  pounds  deducted  for  my  mother,"  I 
said ;  "  but  never  mind,  go  on."  "  I  shall  save,  because  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  I  will,"  replied  Herbert :  "  and 
with  hard  study  and  careful  habits,  a  man  must  do  some- 
thing in  life."  '*  Yes,  undoubtedly,  if  he  does  not  trust  to 
himself."  He  looked  grave.  "  I  am  afraid  that  is  a  lit- 
tle my  way,  but  I  shall  try  against  it ;  and,  Sarah,  one 
thing  which  weighed  with  me  about  going  to  Mr.  Harri- 
son was,  that  he  is  really  a  good  man.  I  should  have 
been  much  more  anxious  to  talk  to  you  about  it  if  I  were 
not  sure  of  that.  Every  one  in  Carsdale,  you  know,  re- 
spects him,  and  Mr.  Benson's  new  curate  says  he  never 
met  with  such  a  first-rate  person  in  his  line.  I  like  that 
new  curate  uncommonly." 

How  old  Herbert  made  me  feel !  With  his  eager  en- 
ergy and  buoyancy  of  spirit,  he  was  already  creating 
something  like  pleasure  for  himself  out  of  the  dreary 
future.  The  new  curate  was  an  excitement  to  him.  I  had 
never  even  heard  there  was  such  a  person.  I  was  assured, 
however,  now  that  he  was  a  capital  fellow,  and  had  given 
excellent  advice,  and  shown  himself  exceedingly  inclined 
to  be  a  friend ;  all  which  might  be  very  true,  but  a 
cautious  elder  sister  was  disposed  to  be  rather  less  trust- 
ing. So,  in  spite  of  Mr.  Malcolm's  recommendation,  I 
told  Herbert  he  must  in  no  way  consider  his  plans  fixed 
till  we  had  talked  them  over  with  my  mother. 

I  went  again  to  aunt  Sarah  the  next  morning.  She 
approved  of  the  calculations,  and  would  not  agree  with  me 
that  it  was  putting  more  upon  my  brothers  and  sisters 
than  they  were  bound  to  bear.  At  the  present  moment, 
Joanna,  Hester,  and  I  were  absolutely  penniless.     It  was 


258  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

absurd,  therefore,  she  said,  to  expect  us  to  contribute.  If 
eventually  we  should  be  able  to  do  more  than  actually 
support  ourselves,  we  should  of  course  be  called  upon  to 
add  our  share.  ''  All  will  go  well,  Sally,"  said  my  aunt, 
"if  you  have  clear  notions  of  comparative  duties.  Half 
the  silly  actions  we  see  in  life  are  done  because  the  wrong 
duty  is  put  first.  It's  a  bounden  right  to  attend  to  home 
claims  before  we  entangle  ourselves  with  others  abroad ; 
and  to  provide  for  your  mother  is  the  first  business  of  you 
all,  and  next  to  that  comes  the  seeing  that  each  of  you  has 
the  means  of  comfortable  livelihood ;  and  if  it  should  so 
be  that  any  one  is  unable  to  have  it, — not  unwilling  to 
work,  mind,  but  unable, — then  it's  a  claim  upon  the  others 
to  take  care  of  that  one.  Marriage,  personal  comfort,  and 
every  thing  else,  must  be  put  aside,  and  even  charities 
and  plans  of  good ;  always  remembering  that  the  frag- 
ments of  our  time  and  money  are  the  portion  of  the  poor." 
Something  else  she  was  going  to  say,  but  she  checked 
herself,  and  bade  me  take  a  pen  and  a  sheet  of  paper,  and 
sit  down  and  write  to  Caroline. 

It  was  the  most  difficult  letter  I  ever  wrote  in  my  life. 
I  began  sentences,  and  stopped,  and  tried  to  twist  them 
difi'erently,  and  tore  up  the  paper,  and  never  seem^ed  to 
advance  a  step  further,  till  aunt  Sarah,  who  had  been 
watching  me,  said,  "  What's  the  use  of  all  that  scribbling, 
child  ?  It  won't  make  the  matter  better  or  worse ;  and 
ten  to  one  it  won't  be  honest.  Begin  in  a  straight-forward 
way  at  once,  and  say  you  have  been  talking  with  Herbert, 
and  with  me  too,  about  what  you  are  all  to  do,  and  that 
they  will  all  feel  with  you  that  it  is  a  duty  to  make  your 
mother  comfortable, — and  then  ask  at  once  for  fifty  pounds 
a,  year.  Caroline  will  be  just  as  well  pleased,  or  as  little 
pleased,  as  if  you  wrote  her  three  pages  about  it.  Depend 
upon  it,  Sally,  none  but  babies  like  pills  wrapt  up  in 
sugar, — it  makes  them  sick."  I  thought  in  my  own  mind 
that  a  great  many  of  us  were  babies,  and  required  the 
sugar ;  but  the ,  hint  helped  me,  and,  in  as  simple  and 
matter-of-fact  words  as  I  could  use,  I  related,  without  pre- 
amble, all  that  had  passed,  especially  taking  care  to 
mention,  that  the  plan  met  with  aunt  Sarah's  approval. 
Letters  were  also  despatched  to  Reginald  and  Vaughan, 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  259 

and,  when  this  was  done,  aunt  Sarah  made  me  come  and 
Bit  by  her  again,  and  said,  "  And  now,  Sally,  since  I  have 
taken  upon  myself  to  talk  so  much  about  other  folks' 
duties,  perchance  you  may  have  a  care  to  know  what  I 
think  of  my  own."  "  T  am  quite  sure,"  I  said,  "that  you 
will  give  us  all  the  assistance  you  can ;  but  I  know  you 
have  but  a  small  income  for  life,  and  we  certainly  have 
no  right  to  claim  any  thing  from  you  as  long  as  we  can 
manage  without  it.'  "  That's  as  you  think,  child ;  now 
we'll  hear  what  I  think.  I  am  dropping  into  my  grave, 
Sally,  fast, — faster,  may-be,  than  you  or  any  one  can 
think, — and  when  people  come  near  the  end  of  a  long 
journey,  it's  a  pleasure  to  look  back  and  see  how  they've 
fared  through  it.  God  has  been  very  merciful  to  me. 
He  has  given  me  always  enough  and  to  spare,  and  all  my 
life,  from  the  first  moment  I  had  what  I  call  my  own,  1 
had  a  wish  to  offer  Him  a  thank  offering.  I  was  about  as 
old  then  as  you  are  iiow :  and  I  thought  a  great  deal  of 
what  I  should  do,  and  perchance  I  might  have  done  wiser 
in  seeing  to  the  giving  away  of  the  money  during  my  life, 
instead  of  leaving  it  to  others  ;  but  that's  as  folks  think. 
I  was  afraid  of  myself,  and  I  thought  I  might  be  a  fool, 
and  marry ;  and  so  I  put  my  offering  out  of  my  own 
power,  and  insured  my  life  for  little  enough,  but  as  much 
as  I  dared,  and  settled  that  the  money  should  be  His  who 
lent  it  at  my  death.  What  it  should  go  for  I  knew  He 
would  point  out,  and  of  late  years  I  fancied  it  might  be 
right  that  it  should  add  to  Lady  Emily's  school,  and  many 
a  talk  we've  had  about  it.  But  there's  another  way  now  ; 
God  will  have  it  for  the  poor  children  in  the  end,  but  ho 
has  another  work  for  it  to  do  first,  and  it's  yours,  Sally, 
yours,  and  Joanna's,  and  the  child  Hester's,  as  long  as  you 
need  it.  Her  vpice  was  firm  at  first,  but  when  I  tried  to 
say  what  I  felt,  and  thank  her,  her  countenance  changed 
and  her  lips  trembled,  whilst  she  said,  grasping  my  hand, 
"  It  will  give  you  a  roof  over  your  heads,  and  then  you 
will  think  of  aunt  Sarah." 

The  weakness  was  but  momentary,  however  ;  she  was 
herself  again  directly,  and,  with  all  the  clearness  and  pre- 
cision which  might  have  belonged  to  the  very  prime  of 
life,  she  explained  to  me  more  distinctly  her  intentions. 


260  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

The  interest  of  the  sum, — forty  pounds,  would,  she  thought, 
"be  about  sufficient  to  provide  for  the  rent  of  any  mode- 
rate house  which  we  should  engage.  It  might  even  leave 
a  little  over.  Till  the  insurance  became  due  at  her  death, 
she  would  provide  the  same  sum  out  of  her  own  income. 
The  capital  of  the  insurance  was  to  be  placed  in  the  hands 
of  the  trustees  of  Lady  Emily  Rivers'  school,  to  be  em- 
ployed by  them  as  they  might  think  best ;  but  the  fixed 
interest  was  to  be  paid  to  Joanna,  Hester,  and  myself,  as 
long  as  we  remained  unmarried :  afterwards  the  whole 
was  to  revert  to  the  school.  "  Only,  Sally,"  added  aunt 
Sarah,  as  she  concluded  her  explanation,  "  remember  it  is 
the  money  of  the  poor  ;  and  though  it's  not  for  us  blind 
mortals  to  tie  others  down  by  conditions  more  than  we 
can  help,  yet,  if  God  should  ever  give  you  enough  without 
it,  in  His  sight  you  will  have  no  claim  upon  it." 

A  way  certainly  seemed  opening  to  us  out  of  our  dif- 
ficulties. With  my  mother  provided  for,  and  a  house 
rent  free,  the  prospect  of  the  future  would  not  be  utterly 
despairing.  My  great  anxiety  was  for  the  answers  to  the 
London  letters.  They  did  not  come  on  the  day  I  expect- 
ed, and  I  conjured  up  a  host  of  disagreeables — refusals 
perhaps,  and  complaints  of  my  suggestions, — painful  to 
myself,  and  ending  in  coolness,  if  not  in  anger.  My  mo- 
ther was  beginning  to  inquire  about  our  plans,  and  this 
made  me  the  more  desirous  to  put  something  definite  be- 
fore her.  It  was  not  easy  to  satisfy  her  in  any  way  just 
at  that  time.  She  was  very  eager  to  have  our  affairs  set- 
tled, but  she  did  not  seem  to  have  the  spirit  or  power  to 
take  the  management  of  them  into  her  own  hands.  And 
so,  also,  her  dread  of  seeing  persons  was  quite  painful, 
and  yet  she  would  urge  our  removing  to  Carsdale,  where, 
of  course,  we  could  not  expect  anything  like  the  quietness 
of  the  country,  as  if  all  her  hopes  in  life  depended  upon 
it.  In  one  way,  this  eagerness  was  a  help ;  it  softened 
the  pain  which  we  should  otherwise  have  felt  in  talking  to 
her  about  the  removal.  We  had  fancied  that  she  would 
either  very  much  have  objected  to  Miss  Grreen's  house, 
or  else  have  been  totally  indifferent  to  all  places ;  but,  tu 
our  surprise,  she  expressed  a  strong  opinion  upon  the  sub- 
ject.    She  must  have  quietness,  she   said ;  and  though, 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  261 

with  her  unselfish  thought  for  us,  she  would  have  given 
up  her  own  wishes  to  secure  us  a  better  house,  and  a  more 
cheerful  situation  in  Castle-street,  yet  we  saw  that  her 
preference  was  for  the  back  street,  and  the  blank  wall  of 
the  brewery ;  and  this  decided  us, — at  least,  it  decided 
Herbert,  Hester,  and  myself  Poor  Joanna  was  too  over- 
whelmed by  the  state  of  affairs  to  join  in  any  of  our  con- 
versations, and  would,  I  feared,  prove  a  great  obstacle  to 
our  schemes.  It  was  her  duty  to  work,  as  aunt  Sarah 
had  said ;  but  I  felt  sure  that  she  would  not  do  so,  if  she 
could  possibly  avoid  it.  Sometimes,  I  thought  whether 
she  could  be  persuaded  to  give  music  lessons ;  she  really 
played  and  sung  very  nicely, — music  was  her  one  talent, 
— and  I  knew  several  persons  in  Carsdale  who  would  be 
likely  to  give  her  occupation.  She  always  talked  in  a 
mournful  way,  as  if  she  was  condemned  to  help  me  ;  but 
I  had  no  hope  of  her  being  really  useful,  and,  besideSj 
Hester  would  be  all  the  aid  I  should  actually  want  in 
the  school,  for  as  yet  I  had  only  the  promise  of  Mrs. 
Blair's  two  little  girls,  and  the  hope  of  three  others 
The  idea  latent  in  Joanna's  mind  was,  I  could  see, 
that  she  might  go  and  live  in  London  with  Caroline,  and 
then  she  should  marry.  When  I  was  very  much  fretted,  I 
used  to  wish,  with  all  my  heart,  that  it  might  be  so  ;  but  I 
always  blamed  myself  afterwards.  It  might  save  me  from 
care,  but  it  could  not  be  as  good  for  her  own  mind,  for  the 
atmosphere  of  Caroline's  house  was  anything  but  desirable 
for  her.  It  would  have  been  comparatively  easy  to  fulfil  her 
duties  and  my  own  too,  if  the  day  had  but  been  long 
enough ;  for  it  is  always  less  dij05.cult  to  do  things  one's 
self,  than  to  persuade  those  who  are  unwilling  to  do  them ; 
but  I  had  rather  a  clearer  perception  than  formerly  of  the 
mistake  people  commit  when  they  undertake  business  which 
does  not  rightly  fall  to  their  share,  and  therefore,  though 
much  against  my  inclination,  I  ventured  to  propound  to 
Joanna  the  necessity  of  doing  something  for  herself,  and 
the  possibility  of  giving  music  lessons,  either  at  home  or 
not,  as  might  seem  best,  but  the  former  if  possible.  I  could 
scarcely  help  smiling,  though  my  sense  of  justice  was  keen- 
ly wounded,  at  the  tone  which  she  immediately  assumed. 
It  was  cruel,  she  said,  to  remind  her  of  her  dependent 


262  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

state,  and  exceedingly  hard  that  she,  an  elder  sister,  should 
be  the  one  forced  to  sacrifice  everything.  Why  did  I  not 
give  music  lessons  myself?  I  was  just  as  competent  as 
she  was.  It  was  very  well  for  me  to  talk  about  exertion, 
when  I  was  going  to  sit  at  home  by  my  own  fireside,  and 
take  just  the  occupation  which  was  brought  to  me.  I  had 
nothing  to  bear,  but  I  always  put  myself  first,  and  consid- 
ered myself  before  others.  There  was  nothing  to  be  said 
to  such  accusations,  except  that,  if  she  preferred  taking 
my  duties,  I  was  very  willing  to  begin  giving  music  les- 
sons ; — an  unfortunate  observation,  which  only  made  mat- 
ters worse,  as  she  said,  it  was  a  mere  mockery  to  talk  in 
that  way,  for  I  knew  perfectly  well  that  she  could  not  teach 
French  and  Italian.  Certainly  I  did  know  it ;  so  I  was 
silenced,  and  thought  it  best  to  go  away,  and  leave  the 
suggestion  to  work  its  way  by  itself  It  was  a  very  trying 
afternoon  that  followed,  silence  and  tears  being  the  order 
of  the  day,  varied  by  grievous  lamentations  that  she  was 
not  married,  and  assertions  that  she  would  rather  work  as 
a  housemaid  than  give  music  lessons.  All  my  anxiety  was 
to  prevent  her  from  vexing  my  mother,  who  was  quite  suf- 
ficiently distressed  by  the  idea  of  the  day-school ;  but  be- 
fore night,  Joanna  had  worked  herself  up  into  such  a  state 
of  excitement,  that,  without  preparation,  she  rushed  into 
my  mother's  room,  interrupted  Hester  in  reading,  and  in- 
sisted upon  being  told  whether  I  had  any  right  to  say  she 
was  to  go  out  as  a  music  mistress.  I  felt  so  guilty !  Al- 
most I  repented  having  broached  the  subject.  My  poor 
mother  became  nearly  hysterical,  and  went  to  bed  quite 
ill.  I  do  not  know  what  other  people  may  think,  but  to 
me  these  are  th^  real  trials  of  life. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

The  London  letters  came  the  next  morning.  My  hand 
trembled  so  much  when  they  were  brought,  that  I  could 
scarcely  break  the  seal,  and;  moreover,  I  was  obliged  to 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  263 

give  fresh  offence  to  Joanna,  by  "begging  her  not  to  look 
over  my  shoulder  whilst  I  was  reading  them. 

Caroline's  was  the  first. 

"  My  dear  Sarah, — I  received  your  letter  the  day  be- 
fore yesterday,  but  did  not  think  it  well  to  send  an  answer 
immediately  ;  in  fact,  I  could  not  do  so  without  consulting 
Mr.  Blair.  We  should,  of  course,  be  most  willing  to  give 
you  any  assistance  possible,  but  the  sum  which  you  pro- 
pose strikes  us  both  as  being  unreasonably  large.  We 
feel  that  the  burden  ought  to  be  borne  by  all  in  equal  pro- 
portions, and  we  do  not  see  why  application  should  not  be 
made  to  aunt  Sarah  and  aunt  Colston.  Indeed,  it  must 
be  a  question  for  consideration,  whether,  having  a  family 
to  support,  we  ought  fairly  to  be  reckoned  upon  at  all.  I 
shall  be  glad  to  hear  from  you  again,  when  your  plans  are 
further  matured  :  in  the  meantime,  Mr.  Blair  and  myself 
will  think  over  the  subject.  Our  best  love  to  my  mother 
and  all.     Ever  affectionately  yours, 

"  Caroline  Blair." 

Reginald's  was  the  next. 

"  My  dear  Sister, — I  received  your  letter  of  the  12th 
instant,  and  in  answer  ^to  your  application  for  twenty 
pounds  per  annum  for  the  support  or  my  mother,  I  shall 
be  quite  inclined  to  give  my  fair  share,  if  you  find  at  the 
end  of  the  year  that  you  are  behindhand.  But  Caroline 
and  I  have  had  a  talk  upon  the  matter,  and  we  both  think 
it  unwise  to  enter  into  pecuniary  engagements,  until  you 
have  seen  how  far  you  are  able  to  do  without  such  assist- 
ance. 

"  Give  my  love  to  my  mother,  and  to  every  one  at 
home,  and  believe  me  to  remain,  your  affectionate  brother, 

"Keginald  Mortimer." 

Then  came  Vaughan's. 

"My  dearest  Sarah, — Your  letter  gave  me  much  pain. 
It  is,  indeed,  most  sad,  that  after  years  of  comfort  and 
prosperity,  such  trouble  should  have  fallen  upon  my  dear 
mother,  and  upon  you  all.  I  only  wish  it  were  in  my 
power  to  come  forward  largely,  but  you  well  know  what 
up-hill  work  a  barrister's  profession  is.     With  continual 


264  THE   EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE. 

exertion,  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  provide  for  necessary 
expenses,  unless  one  is  peculiarly  fortunate ;  and  under 
such  circumstances,  I  scarcely  feel  myself  justified  in  ma- 
king the  promise  you  desire,  however  much  I  might  wish 
it.  Yet  I  shall  trust  to  send  you  some  little  help  from 
time  to  time,  and  you  may  be  assured  that  your  happiness 
will  be  always  uppermost  in  my  thoughts.  Give  my  very 
best  love  to  my  dear  mother,  and  tell  her  I  trust  to  be 
able  to  run  down  and  see  her  in  the  course  of  the  next 
two  months.  She  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  I  am  much 
better,  and  enjoyed  my  shooting.  I  have  just  made  a 
capital  purchase  of  a  new  gun,  which  I  shall  hope,  with 
Mr.  Rivers'  permission,  to  make  trial  of  at  Lowood.  A 
kiss,  and  a  great  deal  of  love,  to  you  three  dear  girls,  and 
all  kinds  of  good  wishes  for  Herbert.  Ever,  my  dearest 
Sarah,  your  most  affectionate  brother, 

'•  Yaughan  Mortimer." 

I  took  the  letters  to  Carsdale,  and  read  them  out  to 
aunt  Sarah.  "  Be  patient,  Sally,"  was  her  comment ; 
"  they've  all  got  a  squint  in  their  minds."  It  took  some 
time  to  rectify  the  squint,  but  it  was  done  at  last ;  not, 
however,  by  me,  but  by  aunt  Sarah.  The  last  letter 
which  she  ever  wrote  in  her  life  was  written  on  that  occa- 
sion to  Caroline.  It  was  the  work  of  two  days,  but  she 
insisted  upon  not  dictating,  but  writing  it  with  her  own 
hand. 

"  My  dear  Niece  and  Nephews, — Your  sister  Sally 
showed  me  your  letters.  Being  the  oldest  living  member 
of  the  family,  you  will,  no  doubt,  listen  to  what  I  have  to 
say  about  them.  Your  sister  Sally  does  not  want  your 
help  ;  she  is  going  to  live  at  Betsey  Green's  house  in 
Cross-street,  and  teach  Mrs.  Blair's  two  children,  and  we 
hope  some  others  ;  and  Joanna  will  take  care  for  herself, 
and  Hester  for  herself  You  are  not  asked  to  think  about 
them  now^  though,  if  need  were,  it  would  be  your  business 
to  help  them ;  but,  as  dutiful  sons  and  daughters,  you  are 
to  take  care  that  your  mother  has  money  enough  to  be 
comfortable.  Mr.  Hale,  the  lawyer,  will  pay  the  rent  of 
Betsey  Green's  house  for  me  every  year ;  that  will  be 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  265 

forty  pounds,  which  I  give  to  my  nieces  Joanna,  Sarah, 
and  Hester  Mortimer. 

"If  you  think  right  to  trouble  Mrs.  Montague  Cols- 
ton for  help,  it  will  be  just  the  labour  of  writing  the  let- 
ter, which  you  may  very  well  do  ;  but,  any  way,  as  dutiful 
children,  to  whom  God  has  given  food  and  clothing,  and 
something  to  spare,  you  will,  doubtless,  see  that  it's  right 
to  make  your  mother  easy,  and  that  God's  blessing  will 
follow  upon  it,  which  I  pray  Him  to  grant  you  always. 
This  being  the  last  letter  that  it's  likely  He  will  be  pleased 
to  let  me  write,  I  beg  you  all,  for  love's  sake,  and  your 
jsoul's  sakes,  to  attend  to  it ;  and  I  remain  as  ever,  your 
affectionate  great-aunt, 

"  Sarah  Mortimer." 

Aunt  Sarah's  influence  in  the  family  was  greater  even 
than  I  had  imagined.  It  was  the  result  of  many  years 
of  respect,  and  the  same  things  which,  said  by  me,  would 
probably  have  been  disregarded,  or  have  caused  annoy- 
ance, were  received  from  her  with  attention ;  and,  at 
length,  produced  a  practical  effect,  Caroline's  answer 
was  careful  and  conciliatory.  She  still  insisted  upon  the 
duty  of  applying  to  aunt  Colston,  but  promised,  if  the 
application  failed,  to  make  good  the  sum  required  herself 
Vaughan  and  Reginald  also  agreed  to  add  their  share. 

The  answer  to  that  application  was  destined  never  to 
rea^h  us.  Aunt  Colston  was  very  ill.  Horatia  opened 
her  letters.  What  use  she  made  of  the  privilege  we  could 
only  guess  ;  excuse  followed  excuse,  promise  succeeded 
promise ;  but  the  drift  of  every  letter  was,  that  my  aunt 
could  not  attend  to  business,  and  that  when  she  was  bet- 
ter, Horatia  would  mention  the  subject.  I  do  not  think 
any  one,  except  myself,  felt  how  jarring  was  the  fact  of 
Horatia's  being  the  medium  of  communication  upon  such 
a  subject ;  all  that  the  family  in  general  were  anxious  for 
was,  that  the  question  should  be  settled.  I  was  sure  that 
it  never  would  be. 

As  it  was  impossible,  however,  in  our  present  circum 
stances  to  go  on  without  some  fixed  arrangements,  it  was 
at  length,  though  not  without  difiiculty,  agreed,  that  Car- 
oline and  my  brothers  should  advance  the  whole  sum 
12 


266  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

needed  for  the  time  being.  If  aunt  Colston  should  here« 
after  be  induced  to  give  her  aid,  they  were  to  be  to  the 
same  extent  released  from  the  obligation. 

It  was  not  till  this  conclusion  was  arrived  at,  that  I 
felt  the  full  value  of  aunt  Sarah's  advice.  Whilst  the 
matter  wafe  pending,  the  excuses  and  delays  were  so  fret- 
ting, that  I  was  again  and  again  tempted  to  entreat  that 
nothing  more  might  be  said  about  it.  I  would  have 
pledged  myself  madly,  at  times,  to  any  amount  of  respon- 
sibility, to  save  myself  from  the  painful  feelings  excited 
by  them.  But  when  the  final  arrangements  were  com- 
pleted, and  Reginald,  who  had  undertaken  to  manage  the 
matter,  sent  the  first  cheque,  all  was  changed.  I  forgot 
the  excuses  and  want  of  thought  which  had  been  shown,  and 
felt  only  that  we  had  all  done  what  was  right,  and  were 
working  for  one  end,  and  had  one  common  anxiety.  I 
expressed  myself  cordially  when  I  wrote,  and  my  sister 
and  brothers  were  pleased,  and  threw  themselves  more  into 
our  concerns  than  they  had  ever  done  before.  The  cir- 
cumstances which  I  had  so  feared  would  disunite  us,  tended, 
in  reality,  to  link  us  more  closely  to  each  other.  If  any- 
thing had  been  wanting  to  convince  me  that  we  had  done 
wisely,  it  would  have  been  found  in  my  dear  mother's  sat- 
isfaction. The  way  in  which  she  received  the  ofi"ering 
made  her,  was  something  I  can  never  forget.  Her  chil- 
dren's love  seemed  the  one  thought  which  overpowered  all 
others.  She  knew  nothing  of  the  trouble  or  the  d«lay, 
and  saw  only  that  those  to  whom  she  had  devoted  her  life 
were  anxious,  so  far  as  lay  in  their  power,  to  repay  her 
affection.  Caroline  wrote  a  note  to  her  at  the  time,  which 
was  exceedingly  valued.  Feeling  and  dutiful  sympathy 
were  expressed  in  it,  for  Caroline  knew  well  what  it  was 
fitting  to  say ;  and  my  dear  mother,  who  had  always  fan- 
cied her  cold,  was  so  cheered  and  soothed,  that  her  spirits 
from  that  moment  began  to  rally. 

I  thought  of  what  the  case  would  have  been  if  I  had 
acted  differently ;  the  burden  which  would  have  rested 
upon  myself,  the  sense  of  injustice,  the  difficulty  I  should 
have  felt  in  being  grateful  for  any  chance  offer  of  help, — ■ 
all,  in  fact,  which  the  longing  for  self-sacrifice,  and  the 
wish  to  avoid  the  pain  of  making  a  just  claim  might  have 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF    LIFE.  267 

brought  upon  me.  There  was  only  one  deep  regret  in  my 
own  heart.  I  betrayed  it  whilst  reading  Caroline's  note 
aloud  to  my  mother.  My  labour  was  to  be  for  myself, 
not  for  her,  and  yet  I  would  have  worked  as  a  slave  to 
give  her  one  hour  of  comfort.  When  I  read,  "  it  is  an 
offering  from  Vaughan,  Reginald,  Herbert,  and  myself," 
tears  involuntarily  gathered  in  my  eyes,  and  I  said.  "  I  can 
do  nothing."  My  dear  mother  kissed  me  as  I  knelt  be- 
side her,  and  the  first  smile  which  I  had  seen  since  my 
father's  death  crossed  her  face.  "  My  choice  blessing," 
she  said,  "  they  give  me  of  their  means,  you  give  me  your- 
self" 

Those  were  bright  and  peaceful  moments  in  the  midst 
of  a  great  struggle,  and  a  most  heavy  trial.  My  mother 
kept  up  wonderfully  till  the  last  day  of  leaving  East  Side  ; 
but  it  was  curious  to  see  how  very  much  she  was  learning 
to  rest  upon  us.  Even  as  regarded  Herbert's  engagement 
with  Mr.  Harrison,  she  would  give  no  strong  opinion ; 
though  on  one  point  she  went  entirely  with  us, — she  tho- 
roughly disapproved  of  the  Bank.  My  uncle,  in  his  heart, 
I  suspect,  was  glad,  but  he  shook  his  head,  and  said,  that 
it  was  a  young  and  hasty  decision,  which  Herbert  would 
live  to  repent,  and  that  persons  who  threw  away  their 
friends,  must  not  expect  to  find  them  again  in  a  hurry. 
Herbert  was  respectful,  but  firm  ;  but  they  did  not  li^e 
each  other  the  better  for  the  offer  having  been  made  and 
refused. 

Herbert  went  to  Mr.  Harrison's ;  he  was  a  little  too 
hopeful,  I  was  afraid,  as  to  the  comfort  he  should  find 
there,  but  it  was  the  only  alternative,  and  I  was  extremely 
glad  to  have  him  settled  near  us,  and  able,  in  a  degree,  to 
provide  for  himself;  and  then,  'Mr.  Malcolm,  the  curate, 
had  offered  to  read  with  him,  and  the  acquaintance  prom- 
ised to  be  profitable  in  every  way,  for  Mr.  Malcolm  was  ex- 
cessively earnest  and  hardworking,  and  likely  to  raise  his 
tone  of  mind :  altogether,  I  felt  there  was  much  to  be 
thankful  for. 

But  Betsey  Green's  house,  as  aunt  Sarah  always  called 
it,  was  still  a  great  weight  upon  my  spirits.  Perhaps,  I 
might  have  made  up  my  mind  to  the  black  wall  of  the 
brewery;  but  the  horse-hair  sofa  and  chairs,  the  mahoga- 


268  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

ny  chiffonier,  and  the  dark  prints  hanging  upon  the  drab- 
coloured  paper,  were  very  oppressive.  I  was  ashamed  to 
feel  what  a  slave  I  was  to  such  trifles ;  and  yet  I  hope 
there  was  some  thought  for  my  mother  too.  .  We  were 
very  much  alike  in  our  perceptions  of  the  comfort  or  dis- 
comfort of  a  room,  and  had  always  been  accustomed  to 
consult  about  the  placing  of  tables  and  chairs  in  the  best 
manner.  There  was  little  enough  now  to  consult  about, 
and  I  looked  forward  really  with  fear  to  the  first  effect  of 
her  new  home. 

We  dared  not  remove  any  thing  from  Ea£t  Side ;  all 
the  furniture  had  been  appraised,  and  was  considered  to 
be  under  my  uncle's  charge.  He  did  not  say  what  he  in- 
tended to  do  with  it,  but  I  heard  him  remark  one  day, 
that  he  had  sometimes  thought  of  taking  the  whole  him- 
self, and  letting  the  place  ready  furnished.  I  tried  not 
to  think  what  I  should  do  if  I  were  in  his  place ;  it  made 
me  uncharitable.  The  day  for  our  departure  was  fixed. 
We  had  nearly  packed  up  the  few  things  which  were  our 
personal  property,  and  dismissed  all  our  servants,  except 
our  old  nurse.  Retaining  her  was  rather  a  sacrifice  of 
wisdom  to  feeling.  She  was  not,  by  any  means,  so  com- 
petent for  work  as  a  younger  person  would  have  been,  but 
it  would  have  quite  broken  her  heart,  and  more  than  half 
broken  ours,  to  part ;  and  she  knew  a  little  about  cooking, 
and  was  an  admirable  person  in  illness,  and  willing  to  live 
with  us  for  the  wages  we  could  afford  to  give  ;  and,  in 
fact,  as  we  all  said,  we  were  quite  sure,  if  she  went  away 
one  day,  she  would  come  back  to  us  the  next ;  and,  there- 
fore, we  had  no  alternative. 

Five  pupils  were  promised  me.  They  were  each  to 
give  me  twenty  pounds  a  year,  and  I  was  to  teach  them 
French,  music,  Italian,  and,  as  advertisements  say,  all  the 
branches  of  English  education.  My  conscience  was  a  lit- 
tle uneasy  as  to  my  qualifications,  but  I  believed  I  knew 
more  than  the  governesses  who  had  taught  the  children 
before,  and  I  was  certain  that  I  had  a  full  intention  of 
being  careful  and  diligent.  The  idea  of  beginning  was 
not  at  all  pleasant,  but  I  tried  not  to  let  Hester  see  it ; 
and,  as  to  my  mother,  she  was  too  good  to  distress  herself 
long,  whilst  she  saw  that  we  were  trying  to  do  our  duty ; 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF    LIFE.  269 

and  the  prospect  of  independence,  at  whatever  cost  it 
might  be  obtained,  was,  by  degrees,  reconciling  her  to  our 
undertaking. 

I  had  been  into  Carsdale  very  often  while  all  the  ar- 
rangements were  going  on ;  not  because  there  was  so 
much  to  be  done,  as  from  a  kind  of  restlessness  which 
made  me  eagerly  seize  on  any  excuse  for  bodily  exertion, 
to  remove  the  weight  from  my  mind.  Of  real  business 
there  was  but  little.  Few  changes  were  to  be  made  at 
East  Side, — few  at  the  house  in  Cross-street.  Yet  I  went 
there  constantly,  and  looked  at  the  little  parlour,  and 
sometimes  moved  the  chairs,  and  even  brought  the  horse- 
hair sofa  out  of  the  recess,  and  placed  it  against  the  wall, 
fronting  the  window,  and  fancied  I  made  the  room  a  little 
brighter.  One  thing  I  remembered  could*  be  done  at  the 
last.  Miss  Cole  would  gather  some  fresh  flowers  from 
auLt  Sarah's  garden,  for  the  little  porcelain  vase,  on  the 
day  we  took  possession  ;  and  flowers  always  make  a  room 
cheerful.  Aunt  Sarah  would  not  allow  me  to  go  to  the 
house  any  more  at  last.  It  was  a  foolish  waste  of  spirits, 
she  said.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done,  and  I  should 
only  make  my  eyes  red  with  crying,  and  vex  my  mother ; 
and  Lady  Emily,  who  happened  to  be  with  her  one  day, 
seconded  her  advice.  But  the  last  day  of  all  it  was  really 
necessary  to  go  ;  and  I  had  put  on  my  bonnet,  and  ordered 
the  pony-chaise  with  a  sad  heart,  knowing  that  I  should 
never  have  an  excuse  for  doing  so  again,  and  was  making 
some  memoranda  as  to  things  not  to  be  forgotten,  when 
the  Lowood  carriage  drove  up  to  the  door.  I  expected 
to  see  Lady  Emily,  but  instead,  I  received  a  request  that 
I  would  be  so  very  kind  as  to  go  and  speak  to  Miss  Grant, 
just  for  one  moment.  She  was  alone,  and  a  little  embar- 
rassed, and  hurried  in  manner,  fearing  she  had  taken  a 
liberty  ;  but  she  did  not  like  to  go  in,  she  said,  because 
it  might  be  an  intrusion  upon  my  mother.  She  was  come 
with  a  most  earnest  request  that  Hester  might  go  back  to 
Lowood  with  them.  Lady  Emily  thought,  when  we  came 
to  consider  matters,  we  should  not  object.  She  would 
have  come  herself,  but  she  was  in  a  very  great  hurry,  and 
had  been  obliged  to  stop  at  Hurst,  at  one  of  Mr.  Rivers' 
cottages.     Mr.  Beresford  was  with  her,  and  they  were  all 


270  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

going  into  Carsdale,  and  would  call  for  Hester  on  their 
way  back.  Lady  Emily  hoped  to  see  me  in  Carsdale,  as 
she  knew  I  meant  to  be  there.  If  I  would  go  to  aunt 
Sarah's  the  first  thing,  she  would  make  a  point  of  meeting 
me  there.  I  had  only  to  fix  the  hour.  The  last  request 
was  very  easily  granted ;  but  Hester's  visit  to  Lowood 
was  a  different  thing.  She  had  never  been  anywhere 
without  me.  It  seemed  a  great  step,  allowing  her  to  go 
for  the  first  time.  Yet  what  could  there  be  to  object  to  ? 
There  was  no  one  at  Lowood  except  the  family,  and  So- 
phia Grant,  who  was  quite  one  of  themselves  ;  and  it 
would  save  Hester  a  great  deal  of  pain  in  leaving  East 
Side.  }  could  not  find  any  reason  against  the  proposal, 
and  yet  I  had  a  singular  dread  of  her  accepting  it,  espe- 
cially as  I  knew  my  mother  would  agree  to  whatever  I 
decided  upon,  unless,  in  her  desire  to  give  Hester  pleasure, 
she  might  try  to  overrule  my  objections.  Sophia  watched 
my  doubtful  face,  and  urged  her  petition  more  eagerly. 
Lady  Emily  had  said  that  Hester  might  be  more  wanted 
at  home  the  next  week,  and  Sophia  herself  might  be 
called  away  from  Lowood  at  any  moment.  If  there  was 
no  very  great  reason  to  the  contrary,  it  would  be  such  an 
immense  favour  !  Still  I  hesitated.  "  Here  comes  Mr, 
Beresford,"  said  Sophia.  "  Two  to  one  !  We  shall  be 
sure  to  gain  the  day."  Mr.  Beresford  had  been  sent  to 
inquire  the  cause  of  the  delay.  "  He  considered  the  ques- 
tion settled,"  he  said ;  "  for  his  sister  would  accept  no 
refusal."  "  But  she  will  accept  a  sensible  reason,"  I  re- 
plied ;  and  then  I  felt  myself  caught  by  my  own  words, 
for  I  had  really  no  sensible  reason  to  give.  Mr.  Beres- 
ford pleaded  very  strongly  for  Sophia's  pleasure,  looking 
round,  at  the  same  time,  to  see  if  Hester  was  near.  He 
declared  that  she  ought  to  be  allowed  to  decide  for  her- 
self, for  he  was  sure  she  had  bgth  age  and  wisdom.  Hes- 
ter just  then  came  out  to  the  door,  and  I  was  amused, 
and  at  the  same  time,  a  little  provoked,  at  the  way  in 
which  she  hurried  by  Mr.  Beresford,  to  speak  to  Sophia. 
She  was  almost  rude,  though  I  knew  quite  unintentional- 
ly ;  but  he  did  not  appear  to  remark  it,  and  seemed  only 
pleased  to  watch  the  cordiality  of  their  meeting.  The 
question  was  settled,  then,  at  least,  so  far  as  it  could  be 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  271 

without  my  mother's  sanction.  When  it  had  once  been 
proposed  to  Hester,  it  would  have  been  wrong  to  interpose 
obstacles  without  real  necessity,  and  she  ran  in  doors  to 
obtain  the  final  "  yes,"  and  returned  almost  directly  with 
the  intelligence  that  "  Mamma  was  charmed  that  she 
should  go." 

"  Then  Lady  Emily  is  to  meet  you  at  your  aunt  s,  at 
three  o'clock,"  said  Miss  Grant,  addressing  me.  "  Yes, 
if  she  would  be  kind  enough  ;  I  should  be  most  glad  to 
see  her."  "  And  we  will  call  for  you.  Miss  Mortimer,  at 
half-past  four,"  added  Mr.  Beresford,  speaking  to  Hester ; 
"  good-bye,  for  the  present,"  and  he  shook  hands  with  her, 
and  gave  me  a  bow,  because  I  was  not  near  him,  and  they 
drove  off.  "  Mammy,  dear,  why  are  you  so  grave  ?"  said 
Hester,  as  we  stood  upon  the  steps  together.  "  There  is 
enough  to  make  one  grave,  is^here  not  ?"  I  replied,  trying 
to  smile.  "  Yes,  indeed,"  and  she  heaved  a  deep  sigh  ; 
"  but  I  thought  there  seemed  something  particular."  "  No, 
nothing."  And  it  was  nothing  that  I  could  say,^ — nothing 
that  I  understood ;  but  I  wished  that  I  was  going  to  Lo- 
wood  with  her. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

Lady  Emily  was  punctual  to  her  appointment.  Aunt 
Sarah  had  just  finished  dinner  when  we  arrived,  nearly  at 
the  same  moment.  I  think  it  struck  us  all  painfully  how 
like  it  was  to  old  times.  And  there  was  the  old  conversa- 
tion, too.  We  were  to  have  a  little  girl  from  the  Blue 
School,*  as  Lady  Emily's  school  was  called,  to  help  nurse 
in  the  mornings ;  for  this  was  one  of  the  arrangements  by 
which  the  children  were  practised  in  household  work 
The  school  had  increased  since  the  first  foundation  for 
all  persons  who  approved  of  it  were  admitted  'as  subscri- 
bers, and  by  this  means  eight,  instead  of  six  children 

*  The  original  idea  of  this  school  wastaken  from  an  institution  set 
on  foot,  towards  the  close  of  the  last  century,  at  Newport  in  the  Isle 
of  Wight,  but  which  has  no  connection  with  the  National  School. 


272  THE    EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

only,  were  boarded  and  educated.  There  had  been  somQ 
drawbacks,  as  might  naturally  be  expected ;  but,  upon 
the  whole,  the  institution  had  prospered  wonderfully. 
The  instruction  was  very  simple,  much  below  what,  in 
these  days,  is  considered  essential.  The  children  were 
taught  reading,  writing,  arithmetic,  and  needlework  ;  and 
learnt  to  make  their  own  beds,  scrub  their  own  floors,  wash 
their  own  clothes,  and  cook  their  own  (ftnners.  They 
were  taken  to  church  regularly  on  the  Sundays,  and  be- 
sides, on  Wednesdays,  Fridays,  and  Saint's  Days.  They 
learnt  their  collects,  and  said  their  catechism,  and  were 
regularly  instructed  in  a  knowledge  of  the  Bible ;  and 
as  soon  as  they  were  old  enough,  they  were  allowed  to 
attend,  from  eight  till  twelve,  at  the  houses  of  the  respec- 
table families  in  Carsdale,  who  were  subscribers  to  the 
school,  and  so  were  practised  in  household  work  on  a 
larger  scale.  When  they  had  thus  gained  some  know- 
ledge of  a  servant's  duties,  they  were  placed  out  at  regu- 
lar service.  Each  girl,  on  leaving  the  school,  was  pro- 
vided with  a  Bible  and  Prayer-Book,  a  "  Whole  Duty  of 
Man  "  (in  those  days  a  book  held  in  high  esteem),  and  two 
sets  of  clothes.  If  she  kept  her  place  for  a  twelvemonth, 
and  received  a  good  character,  she  was  entitled  to  the 
further  reward  of  a  sovereign.  The  great  objection  raised 
against  the  school  at  the  beginning,  was  the  dress.  It 
was  very  plain,  and  scarcely,  in  those  days,  singular, 
though,  of  course,  it  was  likely  to  become  so  as  years 
went  on.  The  poor  people  themselves  found  fault  at  first, 
and  some  of  the  ultra  philanthropic,  liberals  of  Carsdale 
talked  about  badges  of  poverty,  and  enlarged  eloquently 
upon  the  sin  of  having  distinctions  of  any  kind  ;  but  Lady 
Emily  and  Mr.  Rivers  went  on  their  own  way  undis- 
turbed, and  in  the  course  of  a  very  few  years  the  current 
of  public  opinion  was  entirely  in  their  favour.  The  dress 
was  a  mark  of  honour,  and  stamped  the  children  at  once 
as  well  conducted ;  and  I  am  sure  it  tended  to  keep  them 
out  of  much  mischief,  for  when  they  were  sent  into  the 
difi*erent  families  to  learn  household  work,  the  fact  of  be- 
ing marked  by  dress  forced  them  to  be  careful.  Strangers, 
even,  could  watch  their  conduct  and  report  it,  if  it  was 
amiss.     For  myself, — I  suppose  I  must  not  be  considered 


THE    EXPERIENCE   OF    LIFE.  273 

an  unprejudiced  judge, — a  plan  suggested  by  aunt  Sarah, 
and  carried  out  by  Lady  Emily,  could  scarcely  fail  to  ap- 
prove itself  to  my  mind ;  but,  undoubtedly,  facts  were  in 
favour  of  the  school.  The  girls  educated  in  it  were,  for  the 
most  part,  modest,  diligent,  and  well-principled  ;  they  were 
constantly  sought  after  for  domestic  service  ;  and  the  com- 
mon saying  in  Carsdale  was,  "  If  you  can  have  a  Blue 
School  girl,  you  are  sure  of  a  good  servant.  The  effect 
upon  the  National  Scl^ol  also  was  satisfactory.  There 
was  something  for  the  children  to  aim  at ;  and  those  who 
stood  as  candidates  for  admission  to  the  Blue  School  re- 
ceived, even  if  they  failed,  a  certificate  of  good  conduct, 
according  to  their  respective  merits,  which  marked  them 
out  as  deserving  of  encouragement.  It  is  not  to  be  sup- 
posed that  such  an  arrangement  provided  against  all  pos- 
sibility of  disappointment,  or  did  not  at  times  involve  what 
might  have  seemed  an  over-rigid  observance  of  rules.  No 
child  was  allowed  to  enter  the  Blue  School  before  eleven, 
or  after  fourteen  years  of  age.  There  were  occasionally 
cases  in  which  this  rule  shut  out  a  girl  whom  it  appeared 
desirable  to  admit,  but  it  was  quite  impossible  to  provide 
against  such  accidental  circumstances,  and  in  these  cases 
the  disappointment  was  softened,  as  much  as  possible,  by 
the  certificate  of  good  conduct.  So,  again,  when  a  choice 
was  made  on  the  occasion  of  a  vacancy,  the  laws  some- 
times appeared  stringent.  The  children  were  required  to 
have  been  in  the  National  School  a  certain  time,  to  have 
received  a  certain  number  of  good  marks,  to  be  able  to 
pass  a  fair  examination.  It  sometimes  happened  that  ill- 
ness, or  the  misconduct  of  parents,  prevented  these  re- 
quirements being  complied  with ;  and  it  seemed  hard, 
then,  that  the  children  should  suffer.  Lady  Emily  was 
sometimes,  on  these  occasions, inclined  to  blame  the  rules; 
but  Mr.  Rivers  would  never  allow  her  to  alter  them,  and 
aunt  Sarah  tried  to  make  her  contented  with  them.  "  We 
needn't  try,"  she  used  to  say,  "  to  make  better  laws  than 
the  laws  of  God's  Providence.  Good  laws  and  a  bad 
world  can  never  be  quite  square ;  but  it's  not  the  laws 
which  want  mending,  but  the  world." 

But^is  is  a  long  digression,  only  I  have  a  great  affec- 
tion for  the  Blue  School,  and  a  pleasant  remembrance  of 
12* 


274  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF    LIFE. 

the  tidy  little  figures,  with  their  dark-blue  gowns,  and 
white  capes,  and  straw  bonnets,  which  I  have  so  often 
watched  on  their  way  to  church ;  and  I  like  to  think  of 
the  old-fashioned  house  in  the  back  street,  with  the  image 
of  a  Blue  Girl  over  the  doors  ;  and  the  sensible,  straight- 
forward mistress  having  a  personal  affection  for  her  chil- 
dren, as  she  always  called  them ;  and,  besides,  our  little 
maid  proved  a  most  valuable  assistant  in  our  household, 
and  became,  eventually,  a  regula*  servant,  and  remained 
with  us  till  she  married.  It  "wfrnld  have  seemed  almost 
ungrateful  to  pass  her  over  without  mention ;  but  I  must 
return  now  to  aunt  Sarah's  parlour,  and  Lady  Emily 
Rivers. 

The  first  subject  of  general  conversation,  when  the 
affair  of  the  school  was  settled,  was  Hester's  invitation  to 
Lowood.  Lady  Emily  was  half-afraid  I  might  have  been 
vexed  at  the  idea  of  losing  her  just  when  we  were  going 
away  from  East  Side ;  but  it  was  the  only  opportunity 
they  were  likely  to  have  of  offering  her  a  quiet  visit,  as, 
in  the  course  of  the  next  fortnight,  several  other  persons 
were  expected.  "  And  I  hoped  too,"  she  added,  "  that 
Hester  might  be  spared  a  little  pain  by  the  arrangement." 
I  suppose  my  manner  was  not  very  cordial,  for  aunt  Sarah 
scolded  me,  and  told  me  I  had  forgotten  how  to  say  "  thank 
you ;"  and  Lady  Emily  insisted  upon  my  telling  her  ex- 
actly what  my  objections  were.  I  had  none  to  make, — I 
could  think  of  none, — but  I  smiled,  and  owned  that,  being 
the  first  time  I  had  ever  allowed  my  child  to  go  away  from 
me,  I  had  conjured  up  a  little  anxiety  for  the  occasion. 
"  That's  your  fault,  Sally, — forestalling  trouble,"  said  my 
aunt.  "  God  gives  you  medicine  as  you  need  it.  Some- 
times it's  sorrow,  sometimes  it's  care,  and  sometimes  it's 
over-much  business.  He  orders  it  in  fit  portions,  at  cer- 
tain times  ;  but  it's  your  fashion  to  take  it  all  at  one  time, 
and  then,  of  course,  it's  too  much  for  you." 

"  I  do  not  really  think  there  can  be  anything  to  be 
anxious  about  now,"  continued  Lady  Emily  ; — "  only  Mr. 
Rivers  and  myself  there, — two  old  married  people, — and 
Sophia  Grant,  and  my  brother,  who  leaves  us  to-morrow." 
'•  Does  Mr.  Beresford  really  go  so  soon  ? "  I  Squired. 
^  Yes,"  replied  Lady  Emily,  "  and  much  to  his  own  annoy- 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  275 

ance,  I  suspect."  She  smiled  as  she  said  this,  and  I 
ventured  to  remark,  that  "  I  supposed  the  temptations  of 
Lowood  would  be  too  great  for  him  to  remain  long  away." 
"  One  would  imagine  so,  to  judge  from  appearances," 
answered  Lady  Emily,  "  but  one  must  let  all  these  things 
take  their  course — men  don't  like  to  be  interfered  with. 
My  brother  says  he  shall  be  absent  probably  a  fortnight." 
The  news  was  a  relief  to  me ;  I  did  not  know  why. 
I  cast  off  all  thoughts  about  Hester,  and  returned  to  the 
ordinary  business  of  life.  The  afternoon  was  wearing 
away,  and  I  was  wishing  to  go  to  Cross-street,  to  be  quite 
sure  that  everything  had  been  made  as  comfortable  as  it 
could  be.  Aunt  Sarah  did  not  object,  as  she  had  done  lately, 
and  Lady  Emily  offered  to  go  with  me.  She  liked  to 
know  exactly  what  we  were  proposing  to  do,  and  I  told 
her  of  all  we  had  settled  for  my  mother,  and  we  made  a 
few  calculations  as  to  the  household  expense,  which  gave 
me  hope  that  if  Joanna  could  be  persuaded  to  do  her 
part,  we  might  manage  tolerably  well.  It  was  a  very 
great  blessing  having  some  one  who  could  understand  and 
help  me  in  all  these  points ;  and  Lady  Emily,  for  the 
time,  seemed  to  have  no  thought  except  for  me.  But  my 
heart  sank,  I  confess,  as  I  opened  the  door  of  my  new 
abode.  I  could  scarcely  believe  that  I  was  not  going  to 
order  a  new  dress,  as  in  the  old  times.  Nurse  had  been 
sent  to  prepare  everything  for  us,  but  she  did  not  come  to 
open  the  door  ;  and  instead,  appeared  a  charwoman,  with 
her  sleeves  tucked  up  to  her  elbows,  who  had  been  occu- 
pied in  scrubbing  the  floors.  Sounds  of  knocking  and 
hammering  were  to  be  heard,  which  were  very  incompre- 
hensible, and  brought  a  vision  of  carpenter's  work  and 
carpenter's  bills, — all  about  nothing  ; — and  I  turned  to 
Lady  Emily  to  express  my  annoyance,  but  she  had  gone 
on  before  me ;  and  when  I  opened  the  parlour  door,  she 
was  in  the  middle  of  the  apartment,  talking  to  a  man 
with  a  hammer  and  nails  in  his  hand.  And  the  room  ! 
The  change  was  the  most  marvellous  of  the  kind  that  I 
could  have  imagined.  A  bright  paper,  bright  curtains,  a 
pretty  carpet,  a  comfortable  sofa,  a  round  table,  a  cottage 
piano,  a  little  book-case,  quite  filled,  a  vase  of  flowers 
ornaments  for  the  mantelpiece, — it  was  as  pleasant  a  room, 


276  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

always  excepting  the  .blank  wall  of  the  brewery,  as  could 
possibly  be  devised.  The  fairy  to  whom  we  were  in- 
debted for  its  transformation,  I  recognised  directly. 
Lady  Emily's  deep  blush  and  embarrassed  air  belonged 
rather  to  the  person  who  receives,  than  the  one  who  confers 
a  favour.  She  was  full  of  apologies.  She  only  trusted, 
she  said',  that  we  should  not  consider  it  a  liberty ;  but  it 
had  been  such  great  pleasure  to  Mr.  Rivers  and  herself; 
and  she  had  asked  aunt  Sarah's  sanction,  so  thLA,  the  fault 
must  not  be  considered  her  own  if  she  had  ventured  too 
far.  "  Aunt  Sarah  said  that  the  house  belonged  to  her 
three  nieces,"  added  Lady  Emily ;  "  and  I  thought,  there- 
fore, that  we  might,  for  old  acquaintance  sake,  venture  to 
put  a  few  little  ornaments  into  it."  The  sentence  was 
repeated  twice,  and  I  quite  understood  her,  and  thanked 
her  for  myself  and  my  sisters.  My  mother's  name  was 
not  mentioned,  though  it  was  of  her  that  we  all  thought. 

We  then  went  over  the  house.  The  old  furniture 
of  the  parlour  had  been  removed,  partly  into  the  school- 
room, and  partly  into  the  little  back  room,  which  was  to 
be  used*  as  a  dining-room,  and  which  now  began  to  assume 
a  habitable  appearance.  Here,  also,  a  careful  considera- 
tion had  given  us  some  dining-room  chairs  and  new  cur- 
tains, and  in  the  school-room  I  found  a  pair  of  globes ; 
yet  I  was  scarcely  allowed  to  say  what  I  felt.  If  we 
would  only  accept,  and  forgive  the  liberty,  that  was  all 
which  Lady  Emily  desired.  Persons  who  live  surrounded 
by  luxury,  or  even  those  who  have  always  been  accustomed 
to  the  reverse,  can  scarcely  imagine  what  a  difiference 
there  was  in  my  feelings  when  I  went  again  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, and  imagined  my  mother  inhabiting  it.  I  hope 
Lady  Emily  believed  what  I  could  not  have  found  words 
to  say.  Half  the  sadness  of  the  change  that  had  befallen 
us  was  gone,  for  the  moment,  with  the  consciousness  that 
her  affection  could  never  alter. 

We  left  East  Side.  I  pass  over  the  details  of  the  last 
night  and  the  last  morning.  I  suspect  we  were  all  pecu- 
liarly endowed  with  the  organ  of  locality,  and  our  feelings 
for  the  inanimate  objects  surrounding  our  home  was  really 
a  personal  attachment.  And  we  had  made  the  place,  in 
a  great  degree,  what  it  was.     We  knew  every  plant  and 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF    LIFE.  277 

flower,  and  had  associations  with  every  turn  in  the  walks, 
every  glimpse  of  the  distant  country.  If  we  had  left 
East  Side  under  happy  circumstances,  the  day  of  depar- 
ture would  have  been  very  sorrowful ;  but  we  had  given 
up  ease  for  care,  brightness  for  gloom,  mirth  for  sadness " 
and  tears.  So,  at  least,  it  then  seemed,  for  the  clouds 
bad  departed  from  the  days  that  were  gone,  and  we  saw 
them  soft  and  bright,  shadowed  only  by  the  mists  of  me- 
mory. Even  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  the  home 
we  loved  would  pass  into  the  hands  of  persons  who  would 
appreciate  it  was  denied  us.  The  place  was  to  be  let, 
and  its  next  owner  would,  probably,  set  little  value  upon 
the  things  which  to  us  were  full  of  remembrances.  It 
was  hard  not  to  feel  a  little  bitterly  when  I  saw  my  mo- 
ther standing  regretfully  by  her  own  little  work-table,  and 
opening  the  empty  drawer ;  and  I  thought  of  Lady  Emily 
furnishing  our  drawing-room,  and  uncle  Ralph  exacting 
to  the  very  last  penny,  and  marvelled  that  beings  of  the 
same  flesh  and  blood  should  be  so  diflferent. 

We  went  into  Carsdale  late.  My  dear  mother  was 
very  quiet  and  silent ;  she  tried  not  to  distress  us  by 
showing  her  grief,  but  it  was  too  plainly  legible  in  her  face. 
We  had  a  close  carriage  for  her,  and  she  sat  back  in  it, 
with  her  eyes  closed,  and  never  opened  them  till  we  stopped 
at  the  door  of  the  little  house  in  Cross-street.  Joanna 
cried  nearly  the  whole  time,  and  was  continually  begging 
me  to  keep  my  head  back,  lest  some  one  should  see  me. 
My  own  tears  were  all  inward ;  I  knew  that  if  I  once 
gave  way,  I  should  be  unable  to  recover  myself.  Nurse 
had  lighted  candles  in  the  •drawing-room,  and  made  the 
fire  blaze  brightly,  so  as  to  show  it  off  to  the  best  advan- 
tage. I  had  buoyed  myself  up  with  the  hope  that  the 
prettiness  of  the  room  would  strike  my«niother,  and,  for 
the  moment,  please  her  ;  but  a  blank  chill  came  over  me 
as  she  just  looked  round  for  a  moment,  evidently  scarcely 
seeing  any  thing,  and  then  told  nurse  to  have  the  trunks 
taken  up  stairs,  for  she  should  soon  be  going  to  bed.  I 
felt  then  how  difl&cult,  how  next  to  impossible,  it  is  to  en- 
ter into  the  depths  of  another's  grief.  There  were  times, 
and  this  was  one,  when  all  thought,  all  fear  and  regret, 
were  swallowed  up  in  the  consciousness  of  the  one  great 


278  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

loss  she  had  sustained  in  my  father's  death.  We  could 
do  nothing  for  her  then  but  leave  her  to  herself,  and  to 
the  comfort  which  solitude  only  can  give. 

She  did  come  down,  however,  to  tea,  and  we  placed 
her  in  am  arm-chair  by  the  fire,  and  went  on  talking, 
without  addressing  her,  and  now  and  then  she  was  in- 
duced to  make  an  observation  herself ;  but  we  did  not 
venture  to  say  that  the  room  was  pretty,  or  to  express 
any  hope  of  finding  comfort  in  our  new  home.  She  was 
not  in  a  state  to  bear  it,  and  I  had  been  obliged  to  exact 
a  promise  from  Joanna  that  she  would  not  draw  her  atten- 
tion to  the  furniture.  It  was  a  very,  very  oppressive 
evening, — I  have  had  none  like  it  since.  But  I  was 
thankful  that  Hester  was  at  Lowood. 

A  week  will  sometimes  do  what,  at  a  distance,  seems 
as  if  it  must  be  the  work  of  months.  A  week  saw  my 
mother  domesticated  every  morning  in  the  school-room, 
listening  to  the  lessons,  and  apparently  taking  a  little  in- 
terest in  them ;  and  a  week  made  me  feel,  that  if  we 
could  only  have  a  suflficient  number  of  pupils,  so  as  to  save 
us  from  anxiety  in  money  matters,  life,  as  it  still  had 
duties,  would  still  have  pleasures.  There  was  a  great 
satisfaction  in  the  independence,  the  consciousness  of  ex- 
ertion, the  definite  occupation,  even  when  the  labour  of 
teaching  was  irksome,  which  it  was  not  always  ;  and  I 
was  sure,  besides,  that  in  time  I  should  become  fond  of 
my  pupils.  Our  house  was  really  comfortable,  and  the 
new  furniture  contributed  more  than  any  arguments  to 
make  Joan"na  cheerful.  My  mother,  also,  after  the  first 
mournful  evening,  admired  it  as  much  as  I  could  possibly 
have  wished,  and  dwelt  upon  the  point  which  I  was 
always  most  desirous  of  impressing  upon  her, — Lady 
Emily's  kindness  to  us.  I  could  not  have  endured  that 
she  should  feel  it  as  an  obligation  to  herself;  and,  indeed, 
it  was  what  Lady  Emily  herself  had  especially  wished  to 
avoid.  Sad  as  the"  time  was,  it  was  not  without  hope ; 
and  with  hope,  what  may  not  be  endured  1 

Wh'en  Hester  came  back  from  Lowood,  after  the  visit 
of  a  fortnight,  I  was  afraid  that  the  change  to  her  would 
awaken  my  mother's  sympathy,  and  arouse  the  deep  re- 
grets which  were  still  latent  in  her  mind.     But  sorrow  tc 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  279 

the  young  is  very  unlike  what  it  is  to  the  old ;  and  Hes- 
ter's lightheartedness  was  of  that  kind  which  I  believe  is 
scarcely  ever  entirely  overcome.  She  was  charmed  with 
the  furniture,  interested  in  the  children,  a  little  proud,  and 
a  little  amused,  at  the  requirements  of  some  of  the  pa- 
rents, and  relieved  to  find  that  Joanna  was  willing  to  help 
me  by  giving  the  children  music  lessons.  That  she  should 
consent  to  work  at  all  was  a  great  point ;  and  Hester  did 
not  feel,  as  I  did,  that  it  was  Joanna's  duty  not  to  choose 
the  work  she  liked,  but  to  undertake  that  which  would  be 
the  greatest  assistance  in  a  pecuniary  way.  I  could  have 
managed  the  music  lessons  of  my  own  pupils  without  her; 
but  whenever  anything  was  said,  as  to  her  having  pupils 
of  her  own,  she  always  stopped  the  observation,  by  reck- 
oning up  all  she  had  done  in  the  day,  and  adding,  that 
she  really  could  not  undertake  anything  more. 

The  Lowood  visit  had  no  perceptible  effect  upon  Hes- 
ter that  I  could  discern,  and  I  blamed  myself,  at  first,  for 
my  absurd  anxieties.  There  could  be  no  doubt,  sha  said, 
of  Mr.  Beresford's  intentions,  or  of  Miss  Grant's  feelings. 
Everything  said  or  done  by  her,  she  was  certain,  had 
reference  to  him,  and,  on  the  plea  of  their  being  cousins, 
he  wrote  to  her  every  other  day.  Her  visit  had  been 
very  pleasant,  for  Sophia  had  made  her  share  all  her  pur- 
suits ;  amongst  other  things,  they  had  learnt  a  great  deal 
of  poetry.  Hester  suspected  it  was  to  please  Mr.  Beres- 
fprd,  for  he  was  devoted  to  it,  and  was  constantly  writing 
to  Sophia  about  it. 

Mr.  Beresford,  she  added,  had  returned  two  days  be- 
fore she  came  away,  and  on  one  of  these  days  Sophia  had 
been  obliged  to  go  out  with  Lady  Emily  alone,  to  pay 
some  visits  ;  and  Mr.  Beresford  went  out  too,  but  he  came 
back  before  them,  and  was  very  kind  to  her,  and  read 
aloud,  just  as  much  as  if  Sophia  had  been  there.  I 
thought,  as  I  looked  at  Hester,  that  it  was  better  for  her 
mind  to  be  teaching  little  Kate  and  Emily  Blair,  than  to 
be  sitting  in  the  drawing-room  at  Lowood,  hearing  poetry 
read  aloud  by  Mr.  Beresford  ;  and  again  the  old  anxiety 
came  over  me.  But  Hester  was  unaltered,  and  Mr.  Beres- 
ford was  all  but  engaged. 


280  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 


"  When  is  the  East  Side  business  to  be  settled  ? "  Aunt 
Sarah  asked  me  the  question  every  time  I  went  to  see  her. 
and  so  did  Lady  Emily,  whenever  we  were  alone,  for  upon 
the  sale  of  the  East  Side  furniture  depended  the  settle- 
ment of  all  our  affairs.  Mr.  Rivers  was  strong  in  his 
opinion  that  it  was  worth  more  than  the  valuation,  and 
urged  us  to  have  a  London  appraiser ;  but  it  had  been 
left  entirely  in  my  uncle's  hands,  and  my  mother  did  not 
like  to  do  what  would  appear  suspicious.  And,  be- 
sides, as  she  said,  if  the  London  man  did  not  value  it  at 
more,  there  would  be  all  his  expenses  to  pay,  and  nothing 
gained. 

My  uncle  put  off  the  sale  from  time  to  time,  in  the 
hope,  he  said,  that  the  house  and  furniture  would  let  to- 
gether. But  no  offer  was  made  ;  and  all  this  time  I  felt 
sure,  in  my  own  mind,  that  my  uncle  was  reckoning  inter- 
est against  us,  and  would,  sooner  or  later,  bring  forward 
an  increased  claim.  He  had  paid  the  money  due  to  the 
mining  company,  so  our  debt  now  was  to  him.  What  I 
wished  was,  that  he  would  buy  the  furniture  himself  for 
the  sum  named  in  the  valuation ;  but  he  did  not  appear 
to  like  this  notion.  The  furniture,  he  said,  would  be  no 
use  to  him, — we  must  have  patience.  I  did  not  in  this 
instance  consider  patience  to  be  a  virtue,  and  I  talked  to 
Mr.  Rivers,  and  was  persuaded,  by  him,  to  urge  Vaughan 
to  interfere  ;  but  it  was  one  of  those  interminable  fam 
ily  affairs  which  can  only  be  surpassed  by  a  suit  in  Chan 
eery  ;  and  week  after  week  went  on,  and  nothing  was 
done. 

It  was  during  this  state  of  things  that  we  received  in- 
telligence of  the  increasing  illness  of  my  aunt  Colston  ; 
not,  however,  from  Horatia,  but  from  my  uncle  Ralph. 
He  came  to  see  us  one  morning,  just  as  we  were  sitting 
iown  to  breakfast,  and  mentioned  having  heard  it  acci- 
dentally in  a  letter  of  business  ;  he  did  not  say  from 
whom  ;  neither  did  he  give  us  any  reason  to  apprehend  im- 
mediate danger.  She  was  much  weaker,  he  said,  than  she 
had  been  before,  and  not  equal  to  seeing  any  one — so  he 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  281 

had  heard  ;  and  as  she  had  been  ill  so  long,  and  was  not 
young,  such  symptoms  were  a  cause  for  anxiety.  This 
was  not  a  very  much  worse  account  than  we  had  heard 
long  before,  but  it  frightened  my  mother,  and  made  her 
write  herself,  and  offer  to  go  up  to  London  and  be  with 
her. 

The  next  day's  post  brought  intelligence  that  aunt 
Colston  was  dead  !  That  was  a  very  painful  and  bad 
business.  I  would  fain  not  be  unjust,  or  suspect  evil 
without  proof,  but  we  had  great  cause  for  complaint.  If 
Horatia  really  kept  us  in  ignorance  of  my  aunt's  state,  as 
she  said,  to  save  us  from  increased  anxiety,  when  we  had 
already  so  much  to  bear,  it  was  a  great  error  of  judg- 
ment ;  but  I  could  never  myself  accept  that  excuse. 
Such  thoughtfulness  was  unlike  her  general  character  ; 
and,  moreover,  it  was  accompanied  by  misstatements 
which  nothing  could  justify.  When  aunt  Colston  was 
said,  some  weeks  before,  to  be  too  ill  to  read  her  own  let- 
ters, Caroline  offered  to  go  and  see  her  ;  but  this  was  pre- 
vented, on  the  plea  that  excitement  would  be  injurious ; 
and  from  that  time  we  were  told  she  was  getting  better, 
and  hoped  to  come  to  the  Cottage.  Now  and  then  mes- 
sages were  sent  us,  full  of  delays,  but  giving  us  no  cause 
for  suspecting  that  my  aunt  was  not  at  least  recovering 
her  usual  state  of  health ;  and  yet  all  this  time  she  was, 
we  found  afterwards,  rapidly  sinking.  What  she  knew 
of  us  must,  I  imagine,  have  been  as  little  as  we  knew  of 
her.  Whatever  might  have  been  her  failings,  she  was 
not  a  person  to  neglect  my  mother,  or  act  with  wilful  in- 
justice ;  yet  she  appeared  to  have  done  both. 

My  brothers  went 'to  the  funeral.  My  uncle  Ralph 
went  also.  I  did  not  know  what  relationship  he  claimed 
to  be  entitled  to  show  this  naark  of  respect.  When  he 
returned,  he  brought  back,  by  Horatia's  request,  a  copy 
of  my  aunt's  will,  and  a  letter -in  her  own  handwriting 
addressed  to  me. 

Both  were  dated  ten  years  previously,  but  there  was  a 
postscript  to  the  letter,  added  about  a  year  before  her  death. 
I  read  the  letter  with  very  different  feelings  now  from 
those  which  I  should  have  had  whilst  my  aunt  was  living. 
Death  softens  the  dark  shadows  of  a  character,  and  brings 


282  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

out  vividly  its  brighter  lights.  Now,  when  aunt  Colston 
could  no  longer  vex  me,  I  believed  that  I  had  been  often 
harsh  in  my  judgment  of  her,  and  I  blamed  myself  for 
having  in  moments  of  pique  or  thoughtlessness  given  oc- 
casion for  the  very  severity  which  I  condemned.  Yet  the 
letter  had  all  her  peculiarities.  It  began  by  a  history  of 
her  own  motives  in  coming  to  East  Side,  narrated  in  round 
sentences,  which  might  have  been  printed  without  a  word 
of  correction.  "  It  was,"  she  said,  "  with  a  view  of  study- 
ing the  character  of  her  sister's  family,  in  order  to  form  a 
fair  estimate  of  the  claim  which  they  had  upon  her  con- 
sideration. Her  dear  child  Horatia,  had  already  in  those 
early  days  gained  her  true  affection  ;  but  however  she 
might  desire  to  evince  a  sense  of  her  high  qualities,  by 
treating  her  as  a  child  by  birth,  as  well  as  by  adoption, 
she  did  not  wish  to  put  aside  the  claims  of  others  more 
immediately  connected  with  her.  If  we  required  and  de- 
served help,  she  had  been  quite  willing  to  give  it.  "  But" 
— then  followed  a  description  of  what  we  were,  or  what 
aunt  Colston  believed,  and  Horatia  persuaded  her,  we 
were ; — a  strong  likeness,  but  grievously  caricatured  ;  the 
result  being,  that  our  style  of  living  showed  that  we  were 
in  no  need,  or  that  if  we  were,  it  would  be  a  mere  waste 
of  money  to  offer  it  to  us.  Either  we  were  rich  or  we  were 
extravagant ;  in  both  cases  equally  unsuited  to  participate 
in  aunt  Colston's  bounty.  She  had,  indeed,  at  one  time 
believed  that  her  determination  would  be  different.  Upon 
a  short  acquaintance,  she  had  hoped  that  I  should  prove 
the  exception  to  the  common  character  of  the  family  ; 
but  late  events  had  proved  my  vanity  and  instability  of 
purpose  ;  and  as  we  were  not  likely  to  need  money,  except 
for  the  purposes  of  idle  luxury,  she  deemed  it  her  duty  to 
leave  her  fortune  in  hands  which  she  was  assured  would 
know  how  to  employ  it  rightly.  The  bulk  of  her  property 
(about  eight  hundred  a  year)  was  therefore  given  to  Hora- 
tia Gray ;  but,  as  a  mark  of  sisterly  affection,  my  mother 
was  to  receive  a  legacy  of  two  hundred  pounds ;  one  hun- 
dred pounds  being  also  left  to  me  as  the  fortunate  indi- 
vidual who  was  considered  to  deserve  not  the  most  praise 
but  the  least  blame.  The  postscript  stated  that  the  lapse 
of  nine  years  had  in  no  way  altered  my  aunt's  opinion  as 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  283 

to  the  right  disposal  of  her  property,  especially  as  she  had 
reason  to  believe,  from  observations  made  by  my  uucle 
Ralph  to  Horatia,  that  my  father  was  likely  to  leave  a 
considerable  fortune  from  some  successful  mining  specula- 
tions. 

What  a  mist  seemed  to  pass  from  my  eyes  as  I  read 
this  letter  !  Horatia's  character,  her  aim,  her  special  dis- 
like to  myself  appeared,  as  if  in  a  moment  revealed  to  me. 
Doubtless  she  had  one  fear  in  her  life ;  that  we,  that  I, 
more  particularly,  might  come  between  her  and  my  aunt's 
fortune.  Well !  she  had  gained  her  object ;  and  I  am  thank- 
ful to  be  able  to  say  from  my  heart  that  I  did  not  envy 
her  its  attainment.  The  uppermost  thought  in  my  mind, 
when  I  laid  down  my  aunt's  letter,  was  gratitude  for  the 
mercy  which  had  sent  us  assistance  at  the  very  time  we 
most  needed  it.  My  aunt's  legacy  would  have  been  thrown 
away  if  it  had  come  a  year  sooner  ;  now  it  would  enable 
us  to  look  forward  for  many  months  without  uneasiness. 

As  to  my  uncle's  false  statement  of  our  prospects,  it ' 
perfectly  bewildered  me.  What  motive  could  he  have  had 
for  it  1  Yet  it  was  only  heai"say,  and  I  tried  to  believe 
that  Horatia  might  have  misunderstood  him.  My  mother's 
first  feeling,  when  I  showed  her  the  will  and  the  letter, 
was  like  my  own, — gratitude  to  Goti.  Wounded  sisterly 
aflfection  and  regret  for  us  followed.  Not  that  she  was 
disappointed ;  that  could  not  be  when  she  had  never  ex- 
pected anything ;  yet  it  was  very  tantalizing  to  think  that 
but  for  prejudice  and  misrepresentation,  we  might  now 
have  been  beyond  the  reach  of  pressing  care. 

But  aunt  Sarah  set  that  feeling  right  both  for  her  and 
for  me.  "  People's  faults,"  she  said,  "  are  their  own,  but 
their  consequences  are  Grod's.  Not  all  the  prejudice  in 
the  world  could  have  kept  you  from  money,  if  it  had  been 
His  will  that  you  should  have  it.  And,  remember,  Sally, 
that  poverty  teaches  faith,  and  faith  is  a  mine  of  wealth, 
which  no  one  has  ever  yet  got  to  the  bottom  of" 

Dear  aunt  Sarah !  her  words  come  to  my  remembrance 
all  the  more  frequently,  as  I  feel  how  soon  there  will  be 
none  to  recall. 

Her  infirmities  were  rapidly  gaining  ground  upon  her, 
but  her  powers  of  mind  were  astonishing,  and  I^even  fan- 


284  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF    LITE. 

cied  that  her  perceptions  grew  more  keen  as  lier  physical 
strength  decayed.  For  her  sake  I  was  quite  satisfied  to 
be  living  in  Carsdale.  I  saw  her  every  day ;  it  was  my 
rest  when  my  pupils  were  gone  ;  and  my  mother  saw  her 
also.  Aunt  Sarah  was  the  only  person  whose  house  she 
could  be  persuaded  to  enter  ;  and  I  pleased  myself  with 
thinking  that  they  were  learning  to  know  and  estimate 
each  other  better  than  they  had  ever  done  before.  We 
had  a  year  of  quietness,  if  not  of  happiness,  after  that 
stormy  period  which  succeeded  my  father's  death  ;  yet 
interrupted,  as  regarded  myself,  by  a  circumstance  which, 
if  it  had  occurred  a  few  years  before,  might  have  changed 
the  whole  current  of  my  life.  After  we  had  been  in 
Carsdale  about  three  months,  I  received  an  offer  of  mar- 
riage from  ^clergyman,  living  in  the  neighbourhood,  whom 
I  had  frequently  met  at  Lowood.  He  was  a  person  whom 
I  thoroughly  esteemed,  and  liked,  personally,  more  than 
any  one  I  had  ever  seen.  If  we  had  met  when  we  were 
respectively  twenty  and  thirty,  instead  of  nearly  thirty 
and  forty,  I  might  probably  have  given  him  a  still  warmer 
feeling.  As  it  was,  I  will  not  pretend  to  say  that  the  ne- 
cessity of  refusing  did  not  give  me  a  great  pang.  But  to 
leave  my  mother  and  sisters  was  impossible ;  and  he  was 
not  rich  enough  to  offer  them  a  home,  or  give  them,  in- 
deed, any  assistance.  If  we  had  married,  we  must  have 
lived  for  ourselves  alone.  He  offered  to  consider  it  an 
engagement,  and  wait  the  course  of  events.  But  this  I 
decidedly  objected  to.  He  was  not  young,  and  I  was 
sure,  from  my  knowledge  of  his  character,  that  it  would 
be  for  his  happiness  to  marry  at  once.  T  esteemed  him 
all  the  more  for  seeing,  as  I  did,  that  my  prior  duty  was 
to  my  own  family,  and  for  giving  me  help  to  bear  the  sac- 
rifice I  was  making,  rather  than  in  urging  his  own  feel- 
ings against  it.  That  shows,  I  suppose,  that  he  was  not 
desperately  in  love,  as  people  call  it ;  but  I  felt  myself 
that  the  feeling  was  much  more  sterling  than  the  affec- 
tion which  can  think  only  of  its  own  gratification. 

There  was  a  curious  mixture  of  sadness  and  relief  in 
my  mind  when  the  affair  was  quite  at  an  end,  and  he  had 
left  the  neighbourhood,  as  he  did  almost  immediately. 
My  spirits  had  been  so  worn,  that  I  actually  dreaded  the 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  285 

thougbt  of  any  change,  even  though  it  might  be  for  happi- 
ness. I  felt  as  if  I  had  not  the  power  of  beginning  life 
again,- -as  if  it  would  be,  in  a  certain  way,  going  back- 
wards, creating  interests  for  this  world,  when  all  my  ob- 
jects, hitherto,  had  been  to  loosen  them.  And  yet  it  was 
very  pleasant  to  think  of  resting  upon  another,  instead  of 
depending  upon  one's  self;  and  the  idea  of  an  affection 
exclusively  one's  own  was  more  tempting  than  words  can 
tell.  I  did  not  wonder  at  persons  wishing  to  be  married; 
but  the  day-dream  was  kept  under,  and  nothing  was  said 
by  me  to  any  one  of  the  circumstances  which  led  to  it, 
and.  in  time,  it  ceased  to  give  me  pain. 

He  went  to  Australia  directly  afterwards,  and  married 
the  following  year.  He  has  probably  never  heard  of  me 
since,  but  I  often  see  his  name  mentioned  as  one  of  the 
most  hard-working  of  the  Australian  clergy,  and  it  soothes 
me  to  think  that  the  only  feeling  approaching  to  love, 
which  I  ever  bestowed  upon  any  man  not  of  my  own 
family,  was  given  to  one  deserving  of  it. 

That  was  the  only  very  important  event  in  my  life 
which  I  ever  kept  from  aunt  Sarah.  It  was  not  that  I 
feared  she  might  disapprove  my  decision,  but  I  wished  to 
spare  her  unnecessary  pain,  for  she  was  extremely  fond  of 
me,  and  it  would  have  been  hard  for  her  to  bear  the 
thought  that  I  had  lost  a  prospect  of  happiness.  It  was 
just  possible,  also,  though  I  did  not  think  it  probable, 
that  she  might  have  tried  to  induce  Caroline  to  come  for- 
ward more  largely  with  assistance,  and  then  the  whole 
thing  would  become  known  to  my  mother,  which  was  what 
I  especially  wished  to  avoid ;  so  I  kept  my  secret  in  my 
own  breast.  Yet  I  own  I  was  a  little  galled,  for  the  mo- 
ment, by  hearing  the  next  week  that  Reginald's  salary  had 
been  raised,  and  that  he  was  therefore  at  liberty  to  look 
out  for  a  wife.  Nothwithstanding  all  that  had  been  done, 
the  family  burden  did  not  fall  quite  equally.  However, 
that  was  not  a  thought  to  be  encouraged  ;  and  besides, 
even  if  my  sisters  had  been  provided  for,  it  would  have 
made  my  mother  wretched  to  part  from  me. 

One  other  circumstance  I  must  mention  as  occurring 
about  the  same  time, — an  offer  made  by  Mr.  Rivers  for 
the  purchase  of  East  Side,  which,  to  our  excessive  sur* 


286  THE   EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE. 

prise,  was  refused,  because  my  uncle  wished  to  have  the 
place  and  the  furniture  himself  And  nothing  had  b.een 
said  to  us  before,  but  we  had  been  led  to  believe  that  my 
uncle's  chief  anxiety  was,Jike  ours,  to  find  a  purchaser, 
or,  at  least,  a  tenant !  My  mother  was  really  indignant, 
and  begged  to. know  how  long  my  uncle  had  made  up  his 
mind  upon  the  subject.  But,  as  usual,  there  were  no 
tangible  causes  for  offence.  There  had  been  some  little 
difiiculties  in  the  way,  we  were  told,  and  until  they  were 
put  aside,  it  seemed  better  not  to  talk  about  it.  He  took 
it  for  granted  that  we  should  part  with  the  furniture  for 
the  sum  at  which  it  had  been  valued.  My  mother  acqui 
esced  ;  it  seemed  that  there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done  ; 
but  we  found,  some  time  afterwards,  that  Mr.  Rivers 
would  have  taken  the  farming  stock  separately,  and  have 
given  fifty  pounds  more  for  it  than  my  uncle  offered.  I 
asked  Lady  Emily  why  application  had  not  at  once  been 
made  to  my  mother  ;  but  she  said  that  Mr.  Rivers  thought 
it  could  be  of  no  use,  as  he  was  assured,  when  talking  to 
Mr.  Hale,  the  lawyer,  to  whom  my  uncle  had  referred 
him,  that  Mr.  Mortimer  had  completed  the  purchase  of 
the  whole.  That  was  a  loss  of  fifty  pounds  to  us ;  and, 
moreover,  my  uncle  laid  claim  to  an  interest  of  five  per 
cent,  upon  our  debt  from  the  time  of  my  father's  death 
till  the  day  that  the  sale  was  completed,  which  swallowed 
up  the  small  surplus  that  would  otherwise  have  been  left. 

It  would  be  hard  to  say  how  intensely  bitter  were  the 
feelings  sometimes  excited  upon  these  subjects.  I  could 
have  forgiven  far  more  easily,  if  my  uncle  had  been 
openly  dishonourable.  It  used  to  worry  me  very  much  to" 
know  whether  I  really  was  in  charity  with  him ;  but  aunt 
Sarah  made  my  mind  easy  by  telling  me  not  to  try  and 
rake  out  my  feelings  and  look  at  them,  but  to  judge  my- 
self by  acts — whether  I  checked  myself  in  thinking  and 
talking  upon  the  causes  of  offence ;  if  I  did  that,  the 
feeling  would  be  kept  down,  and  I  should  find  that  I  was 
quite  ready,  when  occasion  required,  to  do  my  uncle  a 
kindness.  As  for  endeavouring  to  think  that  wrong  was 
not  wrong,  I  might  just  as  well  endeavour  to  persuade 
myself  that  the  sun  was  black. 

One  of  our  greatest  comforts  all  this  time  was   in 


THE    EXPERIENCE   OF    LIFE.  287 

having  Herbert  settled  so  near  us.  His  life  at  Mr.  Har- 
rison's was  not  perfect  happiness,  but  there  was  nothing 
which  could  not  well  be  borne,  and  he  was  cheerful  and 
hopeful,  and,  for  the  present,  whilst  his  friend  Mr.  Mal- 
colm remained  in  Carsdale,  I  was  sure  he  would  have  no 
wish  to  leave  the  place.  We  saw  a  good  deal  of  them 
both  upon  the  whole :  Herbert's  half  holidays  were  al- 
ways spent  with  us ;  and  then  Mr.  Malcolm  was  asked  to 
drink  tea  ;  and  they  often  came  to  us  on  a  Sunday  evening. 
Their  society  enlivened  my  mother,  and  was  very  agree- 
able to  me.  Mr.  Malcolm  was  a  person  whom  no  one 
could  be  with,  and  not  derive  benefit^  if  it  were  only  from 
the  effect  of  his  exceeding  earnestness  of  purpose.  But 
he  was  a  very  thoughtful  person  also,  and  many  of  his 
ideas  were  new  and  interesting.  I  did  not  always  agree 
with  them,  especially  on  our  first  acquaintance,  and  we 
often  had  arguments  upon  abstract  questions ;  but  even 
if  occasionally  I  fancied  that  I  came  off  the  conqueror,  I 
was  still  impressed  with  my  antagonist's  quickness  of  per- 
ception and  powers  of  clear  reasoning.  What,  I  think, 
he  chiefly  wanted,  was  an  acquaintance  with  common  life 
and  common  modes  of  thought.  He  had  lived  in  the  at- 
mosphere of  a  college  till  he  insensibly  reasoned  as  if  all 
the  world  was  a  college  also ;  but  a  little  intercourse 
with  general  society  would  soon  correct  this.  And 
he  had  the  best  possible  ingredient,  for  the  formation 
of  a  superior  character ;  he  was  thoroughly  humble, 
and,  to  my  great  satisfaction,  never  talked  of  himself. 
Yet  he  did  more  than  I  could  have  supposed  it  pos- 
sible for  any  one  man  to  do.  Mr,  Benson  was  now  so  old, 
that  the  whole  care  of  the  parish  devolved  upon  the  cu- 
rate, and  he  worked  indefatigably.  The  Carsdale  people 
woke,  as  it  were,  from  a  long  sleep,  and,  for  the  first  time 
in  tlieir  lives,  began  to  perceive  that  the  Church  was  a 
real  and  active  power,  capable  of  enormous  influence,  and 
claming  peculiar  privileges.  They  did  not  quite  like  their 
new  state  of  consciousness  ;  it  interfered  with  their  for- 
mer habits,  and  made  them  uneasy,  and  Mr.  Malcolm  was 
for  some  time  very  unpopular.  But  the  most  inveterate 
prejudice  could  not  have  withstood  his  practical  goodness, 
and  even  the  Dissenters  were  forced  to  confess  that  the 


288  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   TJFP 

curate  was  **  a  true  Christian."  It  would  take  a  long  timo 
to  trace  the  effect  of  his  opinions  upon  the  persons  wh'a 
came  within  their  reach.  They  certainly  had  a  great  in- 
fluence upon  me,  though  I  did  argue  and  find  fault  with 
him.  They  made  me  study,  and  think  of  religion  in  a 
way  which  I  had  never  done  before, — controversially,  I 
suppose  I  must  call  it ;  yet  the  result  was  decidedly  prac- 
tical. Many  of  the  old  diJB&culties  which  had  harassed 
me  in  the  early  days  of  my  intercourse  at  Lowood, — ques- 
tions which  Miss  Warner  used  to  bring  forward  and  spec- 
ulations as  to  the  real  errors  of  Dissent,  were  now  made 
clear  to  me.  I  had, always  been  a  Church  person  from 
taste,  now  I  was  one  from  principle,  and  I  could  feel  an 
essential  difference  in  my  own  mind  in  consequence.  My 
thoughts  were  carried  away  from  myself.  I  had  interests 
and  sympathies  beyond  the  sphere  of  my  own  immediate 
circle,  and  I  lost  much  of  the  fear  of  loneliness  and  isola- 
tion which  had  before  occasionally  depressed  me  when 
looking  forward  to  the  future.  These  were  external  bless- 
ings ;  the  internal  cannot  now  be  spoken  of.  Sometimes 
Church  subjects  were  discussed  at  Lowood,  when  I  went 
there  from  Saturday  till  Monday ;  and  I  confess  that  my 
opinion  of  Mr.  Malcolm's  sense  was  strengthened  by  find- 
ing that  his  opinions  were  those  upon  which  Mr.  Rivers 
had  been  acting  all  his  life,  though  Lady  Emily  confessed 
to  me  that  she  had  never  thoroughly  understood  them  be- 
fore. 

With  aunt  Sarah  I  was  never  controversial.  "  There 
are  stirring  days  coming,  Sally,"  she  would  say  to  me ; 
"  God  shows  you  all  the  right  way.  For  me  there  is  but 
one  way, — to  say  my  prayers  and  be  kind  to  my  neigh- 
bors, and  wait  for. death.  Nevertheless,  that  young  Mr. 
Malcolm  is  a  good  man." 

And  Mr.  Malcolm  would  marry  Hester !  — that,  of 
course,  was  in  my  mind,  if  it  was  not  in  his.  I  do  not  say 
that  it  was  not ;  that  is,  I  did  not  do  any  thing  to  excite 
or  encourage  a  feeling  on  his  part,  but  I  owned  to  myself 
that  I  did  wish  it  might  come  naturally.  I  suppose  no 
person,  situated  as  I  was,  could  have  helped  wishing  it. 
Very  young,  very  lovely,  very  impulsive,  Hester  was  just 
the  person  for  whom  one  might  imagine  that  a  happy  mar- 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE.  289 

riage  was  the  event  above  all  to  be  desired.  If  she  could 
like  Mr.  Malcolm,  and  if  Mr.  Malcolm  could  like  her,  and 
if  he  could  have  a  living,  then  I  should  be  thankful ;  but 
I  saw  no  signs  of  any  of  these  circumstances  as  yet,  and 
in  the  mean  time- 1  waited  contentedly,  being  quite  sure 
that  the  ordering  of  events  was  in  the  hands  of  One  who 
loved  my  darling  far  better  and  far  more  wisely  than  I 
did. 


CHAPTER  XXXIY. 

The  winter  passed  quickly,  and  the  spring  came,  with  its 
soft  breezes  and  blue  skies, — spring  such  as  it  used  to  be 
twenty  years  ago.  I  sighed  the  more  for  the  green  mead- 
ows and  open  common  at  East  Side,  because  my  dear 
mother  felt  the  oppression  of  our  small  house  and  the  at- 
mosphere of  a  town ;  and  I  began  to  understand,  what  I 
never  would  believe  as  a  child,  that,  unless  the  world  is 
very  bright,  autumn  and  winter  are  less  trying  to  the 
spirits  than  spring  and  summer. 

I  wondered  why  East  Side  was  unoccupied ;  I  was  so 
fond  of  the  place,  that  it  seemed  wonderful  it  should  not 
attract  everybody.  But  it  was  not  let,  and  we  did  not 
understand  that  it  was  likely  to  be.  My  uncle  had  it 
kept  in  beautiful  order,  and  I  heard  that  the  early  vege- 
tables were  the  best  in  Carsdale  market ;  but  none  were 
sent  to  us.  Happily  we  did  not  miss  them,  for  we  were 
constantly  supplied  from  Lowood.  Clifton  Cottage  also 
was  kept  up  well ;  from  time  to  time  it  was  said  that  Ho- 
ratia  Gray  was  coming  to  reside  there,  but  I  did  not  think 
it  Kkely.  Now  that  she  had  money  and  freedom,  I  fan- 
cied she  would  be  anxious  to  go  to  some  gayer  place.  Wo 
did  not  hear  much  from  herself  personally,  but  my  uncle 
occasionally  gave  us  notice  of  her  movements.  Perhaps 
I  did  not  think  she  would  come,  because  I  did  not  wish  it. 
I  dreaded  meeting  her  above  all  things,  for  I  felt  that  her 
presence  would  excite  so  many  wrong  feelings. 

My  pupils  had  holidays  for  five  weeks  in  the  summer, 
and  Lady  Emily  tried  to  persuade  me  to  spend  a  portion 
13 


290  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF    LIFE. 

of  the  time  at  Lowood.  I  refused  at  first,  forT!  did  not 
like  to  leave  my  mother,  but  I  was  not  feeling  well,  and 
wanted  change,  an'd  at  length  I  consented  to  go.  If  I  had 
been  easy  about  my  home,  I  should  have  enjoyed  the  idea, 
but  I  feared  at  first  that  I  might  be  much  wanted.  Jo- 
anna was  very  trying  to  us  all  at  times ;  she  was  still  so 
fretful  and  restless.  More  than  a  year  had  passed  since 
we  began  our  new  life,  and  we  were  not  at  all  nearer  the 
point  of  persuading  her  really  to  exert  herself  I  had 
heard  from  several  persons  that  they  would  be  thankful 
to  send  their  children  to  us  for  music  lessons,  but  Joanna 
still  asserted  that  she  had  no  time  to  bestow  upon  them. 
She  could  consent  to  work,  as  she  called  it,  for  me,  but  she 
could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  own  that  she  was  bound 
to  work  for  herself  It  was  too  great  a  humiliation  ;  yet 
she  could  see  no  humiliation  in  giving  pain,  and  adding  to 
the  burden  of  those  who  were  already  too  often  sinking 
under  care.  The  effect  of  thus  wilfully  shutting  her  eyes 
to  her  duties  was  exceedingly  distressing.  She  was  quite 
aware  that  it  was  wrong,  and  the  consciousness  made  her 
so  unhappy,  that  she  would  sit  in  her  own  room  and  cry, 
as  if  she  was  the  most  miserable  being  on  the  face  of  the 
earth ;  all  the  time  deluding  herself  by  laying  the  blame 
of  her  depression  upon  the  change  in  our  circumstances. 
It  grieved  me  very  much,  I  cannot  say  how  much,  to  see 
day  after  day  passing  from  her,  and  laying  up  an  arrear 
of  neglected  duty  which  would  surely,  sooner  or  later,  rise 
up  against  her.  It  was  wretchedness  for  this  world  as 
well  as  for  the  next ;  for  she  could  find  no  enjoyment  in 
the  little  incidents  which  were  a  relief  to  us,  all  her  wish- 
es being  fixed  upon  impossibilities.  We  kept  a  great 
deal  of  this  from  my  mother  ;  but  if  it  had  not  been  for 
Hester,  I  really  do  not  know  how  I  should  have  borne  it. 
But  I  was  to  go  to  Lowood  and  forget  all  troubles, 
and  Hester  promised  to  make  my  mother  happy.  Her- 
bert had  holidays  also,  and  was  able  to  devote  himself  to 
her,  and  promised  to  bring  Mr.  Malcolm  frequently ;  and 
Joanna  was  engaged  to  spend  a  few  days  with  Mrs.  IBlair. 
And  when  these  arrangements  were  made,  I  hoped  all 
might  go  well,  and  set  off  for  Lowood  with  that  feeling 
of  satisfaction  which  only  those  can  enjoy  who  live  under 
a  constant  pressure  of  work  and  home  cares. 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OP   LIPE.  881 

We  were  to  drive  out  by  East  Side.  It  was  my  own 
wish.  I  had  actually  never  before  summoned  courage  to 
visit  it  since  we  left  it.  The  evening  was  lovely  ;  a  few 
white  clouds  flickering  across  the  sky,  and  giving  the  most 
exquisite  effects  of  light  and  shade  to  the  distant  view. 
The  foliage  of  that  year  was  a  peculiarly  rich  green,  for 
we  had  had  rather  a  wet  spring,  and  the  summer  had  burst 
upon  us,  as  it  were,  suddenly,  and  there  had  been  no  time 
for  dust  or  the  effects  of  a  scorching  sun.  I  thought  I  had 
never  seen  East  Side  look  more  inviting.  The  lawn  had 
been  newly  mown,  and  the  flowers  were  coming  into  per- 
fection, and  the  place  looked  thoroughly  cared  for ;  the 
fences  having  been  well  trimmed,  and  the  gates  freshly 
painted.  I  was  almost  faint  with  the  sinking  of  the  heart 
which  came  over  me,  when  we  left  the  carriage  to  walk  up 
to  the  house.  Lady  Emily,  who  was  with  me,  hesitated 
about  accompanying  me,  but  there  was  no  feeling  which  I 
could  not  share  with  her,  and  she  drew  my  arm  within 
hers,  and  we  went  on  togeth^. 

Most  painfully  beautiful  it  all  was, — so  calm  and  quiet, 
and  free, — the  air  loaded  with  delicious  scents,  the  birds 
singing  gaily,  the  cattle  feeding  in  the  meadows  before 
the  house,  and,  in  the  distance,  the  misty  town,  and  the 
river  flowing  on  its  noiseless  course.  We  stood  in  silence, 
gazing  at  the  view  from  the  porch,  till  at  length  I  turned 
away,  saying,  "One  does  oneself  no  good  by  regret  and  it 
is  wrong."  "Yes,  wrong  to  regret,"  said  Lady  Emily; 
"but  not  wrong  to  hope  ;  and  the  happiness  that  is  past, 
is,  we  know,  only  the  prophecy  of  happiness  to  come."  I 
looked  again  at  the  view  with  a  difi"erent  eye,  and  remem- 
bered that  beauty  is,  of  all  things,  the  type  and  earnest 
of  Heaven ;  and  my  heart  was  comforted.  We  walked 
round  the  house.  I  found  myself  recalling,  in  the  most 
minute  particulars,  the  circumstances  which  had  attended 
my  last  sad  arrival  at  home  on  the  day  of  my  father's 
death  ;  and  I  went  round. to  the  back  door  alone,  and 
stood  there  as  I  had  then  stood,  and  fancied  I  heard 
Nurse's  exclamation  of  surprise,  and  the  fatal  information 
which  had  taken  from  me  my  last  hope.  It  was  all  hor- 
ribly real  to  me  again ;  yet  the  impulse  to  give  myself 
pain  was  irresistible.     The  back  door  was  left  a  little  ajar, 


292  THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE. 

and  I  entered  the  house.  The  woman  who  had  charge  ot 
the  place  was  not  in  the  way,  and  I  went  on  along  the  old 
familiar  passage,  and  through  the  swing  door,  till  I  stood 
in  the  entrance-hall.  Then  I  heard  the  sound  of  voices 
near,  but  I  supposed  it  to  be  Lady  Emily  speaking  to  the 
gardener,  and  without  hesitation  I  proceeded  to  the  draw- 
ing-room. As  I  threw  open  the  door  I  saw  a  gentleman 
and  lady  seated  on  a  sofa  by  the  window,  and  recognised 
my  uncle  Ralph  and  Horatia  Gray. 

I  must  have  looked  thunderstruck.  I  know  I  did  not 
speak ;  and  I  know,  also,  that  Horatia  blushed  ; — the  first 
blush  I  had  ever  seen  upon  her  cheek.  I  do  not  think 
even  then  that  I  quite  understood  what  the  circumstance 
implied.  "  This  is  a  very  unexpected  pleasure,  my  dear 
niece,"  said  my  uncle  ;  "  very  unexpected,  indeed."  "  Un- 
expected on  all  sides,"  exclaimed  Horatia :  "  Sarah  would 
as  soon  have  thought  of  seeing  the  Great  Mogul  here  as 
me."  "  Yes,  indeed,"  I  said,  making  an  effort  to  recover 
myself;  "you  have  certainly  taken  us  all  by  surprise." 
"  A  very  agreeable  surprise,"  said  my  uncle,  with  a  smile 
and  a  bow,  which  made  my  blood  curdle.  "  I  came  to  the 
cottage  this  afternoon,"  continued  Horatia,  in  her  usual 
off-hand  way ;  "  and  as  Mr.  Mortimer  and  I  had  a  little 
business  to  transact,  he  was  kind  enough  to  meet  me 
there,  and  we  just  strolled  up  to  East  Side  together.  It 
is  a  pleasure  to  see  the  old  place  again."  "A  pleasure  we 
shall  often  enjoy,  I  trust,"  said  my  uncle,  "  and  we  shall 
be  glad  to  see  our  friends  also."  We  !  I  looked  from  one 
to  the  other  for  an  explanation.  Horatia  threw  open  the 
window,  and  declared  it  was  intensely  hot.  My  uncle 
cleared  his  throat,  began  a  speech  and  stopped,  and  then, 
to  my  consternation,  putting  his  hand  upon  Horatia's 
shoulder,  said,  "  My  dear,  you  must  assist  me ;  we  must 
together  claim  your  cousin  Sarah's  congratulations  for  the 
future  Mrs.  Ralph  Mortimer." 

The  furniture  of  the  room,  the  pictures,  the  people, 
seemed  to  swim  before  my  eyes.  I  sat  down,  and  actu- 
ally gasped  for  breath.  Horatia  gave  me  no  time  to  re- 
ply. She  came  forward  and  kissed  me,  and  laughed  as 
only  Horatia  Gray  could  laugh.  "  An  astounding  event, 
is  it  not,  my  poor  Sarah  ?     To  think  of  your  old  cousin 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  293 

Horatia  being  engaged  to  be  married  !  I  declare  I  don't 
quite  believe  it  myself ;  but  one  never  knows  what  foolish 
things  one  shall  be  tempted  to  do  in  one's  life."  "  Not 
foolish,  but  very  wise,"  said  my  uncle  ;  "  at  least  in  the 
opinion  of  one  most  fortunate  individual ; "  and  again 
his  smile  was  so  extremely  distasteful  to  me,  that  I  was 
tempted  to  jump  up  and  run  away.  Yet  I  felt  that  I 
must  command  myself, 'and  say  something,  and  I  man- 
aged to  express  that,  although  I  was  naturally  enough 
surprised,  yet  I  trusted  such  an  event  might  be  for  their 
mutual  happiness.  '•  And  the  happiness  of  others  also, 
we  trust,"  said  my  uncle ;  "  for  we  have  a  little  plan 
which  I  think  must  be  generally  approved."  He  paused. 
"  You  will  come  and  see  us  here,  dear  Sarah,  won't  you  ?  " 
said  Horatia.  "  Here  !  do  you  mean  ?  Are  you  going 
to  live  at  East  Side  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  the  whole  extent  of 
the  evil,  if  such  it  might  be  called,  flashing  upon  me  sud- 
denly. "  Well,  we  think  of  it,"  said  my  uncle  ;  "we  think, 
upon  the  whole,  it  would  be  most  desirable.  It  is  rather 
far  from  Carsdale,  but  I  hope  I  can  manage  to  make  my 
arrangements  so  as  not  to  render  it  a  great  inconvenience  ; 
and  dear  Horatia  is  so  fond  bf  the  country ;  and,  in  fact, 
we  thought  that  for  every  one — your  poor  dear  mother, 
and  every  one — it  would  be  a  comfort ;  so  we  have  been 
talking  it  over,  and  I  think  we  shall  manage  it, — I  think 
you  may  reckon  upon  it."  "  You  don't  say  any  thing,  Sa- 
rah," said  Horatia  ;  "  do  you  disapprove  ?  "  No,  I  did 
not  say  any  thing ;  I  felt  that  I  had  no  right  to  disap- 
prove,— yet  the  idea  was  odious  to  me.  "  It  is  not  a 
question  for  me  to  decide,"  I  replied,  when  1  could  trust 
myself  to  speak  ;  "  it  must  depend  upon  your  own  conve- 
nience. As  regards  my  mother,  I  fear  it  can  be  of  little 
consequence  to  her  into  whose  hands  the  place  passes." 
And,  as  I  said  this,  I  stood  up  to  go.  "Ah  !  well,  we 
shall  get  over  all  that  old  feeling,"  exclaimed  Horatia ; 
"  Ralph  and  I  have  talked  it  well  over."  I  felt  myself 
biting  my  lips  with  irritation.  "  Yes,"  said  my  uncle, 
"  with  dear  Horatia's  kind  thoughtfulness,  I  have  every 
hope  that  we  shall  prevail  upon  your  poor  mother  to  over- 
come these  little  regrets."  I  held  out  my  hand  to  ta^e 
leave.     "  Good-bye,  uncle  Ralph,"  I  said,  unconsciously 


294  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

laying  a  stress  upon  the  word  uncle.  Horatia's  laugh 
again  echoed  through  the  room.  "  Why,  Sarah,  I  shall 
be  your  aunt,  I  declare  !  I  never  thought  of  it  before. 
Aunt  Horatia  ! — how  will  it  sound  ?  "  "  Very  strange." 
[said  the  words  from  my  heart,  and  hurried  away. 

Oh  !  the  unspeakable  relief  of  being  alone  ! — in  the 
free  air — with  the  unsullied  loveliness  of  nature — be- 
neath the  purity  of  an  unclouded  sky !  I  waited  for  a 
few  moments  under  the  beech-tree  by  the  entrance  of  the 
shrubbery,  to  collect  my  thoughts,  and  then  rejoined  La- 
dy Emily,  who  was  waUiing  up  and  down  near  the  car- 
riage. 

"  I  thought  you  were  lost,"  she  began ;  but  a  glance  at 
my  countenance  showed  her  that  something  was  amiss. 
She  fancied  I  was  ill,  and  entreated  me  to  get  into  the 
carriage.  But  I  could  not  hear  of  that, — I  was  full  of 
one  idea,  tliat  I  must  return  to  Carsdale.  I  could  not 
leave  my  mother  to  hear  the  news  by  accident,  or  when  I 
was  not  present. 

Lady  Emily's  annoyance,  when  I  told  her  of  my  inter- 
view, was  more  openly  betrayed  than  she  wished.  My  un- 
cle was  too  nearly  related  to  me  to  admit  of  a  free  expres- 
sion of  her  feelings ;  but  they  escaped  from  her  involunta- 
rily. All  that  she  said  of  Horatia  was,  "  She  has  manoeu- 
vred cleverly,  yet  not  as  I  should  have  expected."  Lady 
Emily  did  not  know  her  as  I  did;  she  did  not  understand 
how  little  Horatia  was  called  upon  to  sacrifice.  Cold,  self- 
ish, domineering,  with  a  very  large  portion  of  worldly  wis- 
dom, she  had  calculated  her  chances  of  happiness  well  for 
this  life.  My  uncle  would  be  her  slave, — a  younger  man 
might  have  been  her  master;  and,  as  mistress  of  East 
Side,  she  would  have  what  we  once  possessed  and  had  lost 
Even  Horatia  herself  would  not,  I  suspect,  have  acknow- 
ledged how  large  an  ingredient  in  her  satisfaction  was  the 
thought  of  triumphing  over  those  whom  she  had  once 
looked  upon  as  rivals. 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  295 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 


If  it  had  been  possible  to  feel  amusement  upon  such  a 
subject,  it  would  have  been  absurd  to  watch  how  soon  the 
subject  of  my  uncle's  engagement  with  Horatia  became  the 
one  absorbing  topic  of  interest  in  Carsdale  and  its  neigh- 
bourhood. The  remarks  made  upon  it  came  to  us  partly 
through  Mrs.  Blair,  partly  through  Miss  Cleveland,  who 
still  paid  us  occasional  visits,  and  was  as  merry  and 
good-natured,  and  in  appearance,  as  young  as  ever.  One 
was  the  purveyor  of  news  for  the  town,  the  other  for  the 
country.  Strange,  wonderful,  ludicrous,  were  all  epithets 
applied  to  the  projected  marriage  ;  but  these  soon  toned 
down  ; — people's  minds  became  accustomed  to  the  idea  of 
Mr.  Ralph  Mortimer  a  married  man,  and  they  began  to 
perceive  that  it  was  really  the  best  thing  that  could  be 
done, — an  old  bachelor's  life  was  so  melancholy,  and  Miss 
Gray  was  not  so  young  herself,  and  she  would  prove  an 
admirable  manager,  and  really  be  an  acquisition  in  the 
neighbourhood,  for  she  was  very  clever,  and  always  made 
herself  agreeable.  As  to  their  living  at  East  Side,  there 
could  be  but  one  opinion  upon  that  point ;  it  was  unques- 
tionably the  best  possible  arrangement,  and  no  doubt  Mr. 
Mortimer  had  always  contemplated  it,  and  that  was  the 
reason  he  had  so  long  delayed  trying  to  let  it.  So  clever 
of  him,  and  so  cunning  too,  not  to  mention  a  word  of  his 
secret  to  any  one ! — though  all  the  world  were  wondering 
what  he  was  at.  It  was,  indeed,  a  matter  of  general  con- 
gratulation that  East  Side  was  still  to  be  inhabited  by  one 
of  the  family. 

Oh  dear  !  I  wished  the  world  would  give  up  congratu- 
lations upon  subjects  it  knew  nothing  about ! — marriages 
especially. 

My  dear  mother  was  more  patient  a  great  deal  than  I 
was.  Perhaps  I  may  add,  as  a  little  excuse  for  myself, 
that  she  was  not  quite  so  much  tried,  for  she  was  able  to 
keep  to  her  room,  and  decline  seeing  visitors,  whereas  I 
was  obliged  to  receive  every  one.  But  I  must  also  do  Ho- 
ratia the  justice  to  say,  that,  as  far  as  my  mother  was  con- 
cerned, she  behaved  very  well.  If  she  had  the  smallest 
feeling  for  any  of  us  it  was  for  her ;  and  my  mother's  calm 


296  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

face  and  widow's  dress  must  have  procured  for  her  outward 
respect,  even  from  a  person  quite  devoid  of  ordinary  tact, 
which  certainly  was  not  the  case  with  Horatia.  But  when 
alone  with  us — and  she  made  it  a  point  of  professed  kind- 
ness to  call  whenever  she  could — the  triumphant  spirit 
showed  itself  without  restraint.  The  projected  improve- 
ments at  East  Side — the  press  of  business — the  flattering 
congratulations — we  were  deluged  with  them.  It  was 
*'  dear  Ralph  and  myself," — and  "  our  garden," — and  "  our 
greenhouse," — and  "  our  farm," — and  even  "  our  poor  peo- 
ple,"— and  "  our  school," — for  Horatia  was  taking  up  the 
useful  and  benevolent  line,  as  befitting  her  new  position, 
and,  of  course,  schools  and  poor  people  came  first  on  the 
list  of  duties. 

No  wonder  the  Carsdale  world  praised  her  ;  no  wonder 
it  was  said  to  me,  five  times  in  the  course  of  one  week,  that 
the  future  Mrs!  Ralph  Mortimer  was  a  charming  woman. 
I  do  not  know  what  I  might  not  have  been  induced  to  say 
myself  at  last  from  hearing  it  so  often  repeated,  if  Horatia 
had  not  taken  such  a  deep  interest  in  the  welfare  of  my 
pupils,  and  insisted  upon  sending  us  presents  from  East 
Side. 

"A  basket  of  vegetables,  ma'am,  with  Miss  Gray's  com- 
pliments." "Someflowers, ma'am, from  East  Side."  "Miss 
Gray's  love,  and  she  has  sent  Miss  Hester  the  cuttings  she 
promised."  The  messages  were  daily ;  and  what  could 
one  do  but  be  grateful  ?  only  that,  as  aunt  Sarah  said,  "  the 
woman  had  no  business  to  give  away,  as  her  own,  things 
which  did  not  yet  belong  to  her." 

The  marriage  was  not  to  take  place  for  some  weeks.  If 
my  own  pleasure  had  been  consulted,  it  should  have  been 
immediate.  All  I  longed  for  was  to  have  it  over,  and  be 
saved  the  annoyance  of  preparation,  and  the  dread  which 
was  always  hanging  over  me  of  being  asked  to  be  brides- 
maid. Clifton  Cottage  was  to  be  finally  disposed  of  after 
Horatia's  marriage  ;  and,  in  the  meantime,  a  great  deal  of 
the  best  furniture  was  removed  to  East  Side.  This  in- 
volved some  more  little  presents, — old  stray  tables  and 
chairs,  which  would  have  been  a  desight  at  East  Side,  but 
were  offered  to  us  as  perfect  treasures.  Amongst  tliem, 
however,  came  one  day  a  box  of  which  I  had  long  desired 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  297 

the  possession ;  the  identical  box  which  used  to  stand  un- 
der the  table  in  the  dining-room  at  Castle  House.  Jt  had 
always  contained  family  papers,  and  some  of  my  father's 
letters,  and,  after  his  death,  I  had  made  a  special  applica- 
tion for  it ;  but  my  uncle  objected  to  letting  any  one  have 
it,  till  Mr.  Blair  and  Vaughan  had  looked  over  the  con- 
tents ;  and  I  was  told  by  them  that  the  letters  were  all 
about  business,  and  things  which  I  had  no  concern  with, 
and  that  I  had  better  leave  them  where  they  were  for  my 
uncle  to  do  what  he  liked  with  them;  and  so  the 'box  re- 
mained in  a  closet  in  my  father's  study,  till  Horatia  Gray 
gave  a  sudden  order  that  the  closet  should  be  cleared,  and 
the  servants,  by  mistake,  sent  us  in  what  they  naturally 
considered  our  own  property.  Once  in  possession,  and  I 
was  not  to  be  persuaded  to  part  with  it  again.  Horatia 
discovered  the  mistake,  and  begged  that  the  box  might  be 
returned ;  but  we  informed  her  that  the  papers  were  my 
father's,  and  therefore  very  interesting  to  us,  and  we  begged 
to  keep  them.  She  took  the  matter  coolly,  said,  of  course, 
if  we -liked  to  trouble  ourselves  with  a  box  of  old  papers 
in  our  small  house,  we  could  do  as  we  chose,  but  that  there 
was  plenty  of  room  for  them  in  the  lumber-room  at  East 
Side ;  and  so,  as  far  as  she  was  concerned,  the  matter  ended. 
I  was  sure  she  would  not  say  anything  to  uncle  Ralph, 
and  I  was  equally  sure  that  we  should  not ;  and  Herbert 
and  I  undertook,  with  my  mother's  consent,  to  examine  the 
contents  of  the  box  at  our  leisure.  The  letters  were,  as 
we  had  been  told,  for  the  most  part,  letters  of  business,  and 
if  we  had  had  no  clue  to  their  meaning,  they  would  probably 
have  appeared  unimportant.  There  were  a  great  many 
letters  from  my  uncle,  many  from  persons  connected  with 
the  mining  speculations,  and  some  few  copies,  which  my 
father  had  made,  of  his  own  answers.  We  arranged  them  in 
order,  and  then  proceeded  to  study  them.  They  would 
have  made  a  curious  illustration  of  the  way  in  which  a  true 
but  weak  character  can  be  ruined  by  one  that  is  cunning 
and  unscrupulous.  My  father's  extravagance  had  at  first 
provoked  my  uncle,  but  after  a  time  he  had  learnt  how  to 
take  advantage  of  it,  not  only  by  reckoning  a  high  interest, 
but  in  other  ways.  My  father,  being  in  his  debt,  was  in 
his  power, — forced  to  follow  his  advice, — forced  to  enter 
13* 


298  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

into  the  schemes  proposed.  When  these  were  likely  to 
prospep,  my  uncle  paid  himself,  both  the  capital  and  in- 
terest of  the  debt,  by  taking  my  father's  shares  at  a  low 
rate,  and  then  allowed  him  to  incur  fresh  obligations  which 
were  to  be  redeemed  at  the  same  rate.  He  had  certainly 
calculated  most  carefully.  As  far  as  we  could  afTord, — 
that  is,  till  we  were  nearly  ruined, — he  had  given  us 
credit ;  after  that,  as  the  letters  proved,  he  had  refused 
any  more  assistance,  and  so  the  last  debt  had  been  in- 
curred to  the  mining  company.  Herbert  actually  groaned 
as  the  evidences  of  all  this  trickery  on  one  side,  and  cre- 
dulity and  thoughtlessness  on  the  other,  were  brought  to 
light;  but  we  both  agreed  that  we  would  say  nothing  of 
the  conclusions  we  had  arrived  at.  No  good  oould  result 
.  from  mentioning  them-  We  should  only  pain  my  motber, 
and  increase  her  feeling  against  my  uncle.  If  there  had 
been  facts  to  bring  forward,  which  would  have  given  us 
any  claim  to  assistance,  it  might  have  been  different ;  but 
we  both  said  that  no  actual  injustice  had  been  committed  ; 
and  the  conduct  of  which  we  complained  was  of  a  nature 
of  which  no  human  tribunal  can  take  cognizance. 

We  had  sat  up  late  together,  and  Herbert  was  just  say- 
ing that  he  must  go  back  to  Mr.  Harrison's  or  he  should 
get  into  disgrace,  when,  in  replacing  the  letters  in  the  box, 
I  discovered  a  small  packet,  which  had  been  tied  up  with 
some  copies  of  accounts.  Herbert  proposed  to  leave  them 
till  another  day,  for  they  were  discolored,  and  would  be 
troublesome  to  decipher  ;  but  I  was  very  much  wishing  to 
finish  the  business  at  once  ;  it  was  so  disagreeable  to  me 
that  I  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  dragging  it  on  till 
another  day.  The  packet  was  marked,  "  Letters  from  my 
father."  Herbert  and  I  looked  at  them  together.  They 
were  extremely  touching — full  of  the  most  intense  affec- 
tion. It  seemed  as  if  all  the  warmth  of  the  old  man's 
heart  had  been  concentrated  upon  his  favourite  son  ;  but 
there  was  nothing  in  them  which  at  all  elucidated  any 
circumstances  in  which  we  were  interested,  until  we  came 
to  the  last,  dated  the  year  before  my  father  left  the  army. 
It  was  shorter,  more  decidedly  business-like  than  the 
others,  but  equally  affectionate.  My  father  was  implored 
to  return  home,  and  every  comfort,  it  was  said,  should  be 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  299 

provided  for  him.  He  might  be  certain  of  the  interest  of 
fivc-and-twenty  thousand  pounds  at  four  per  cent,  during 
his  life,  and  fiffeen  thousand,  it  might  even  be  more,  in 
actual  capital  at  my  grandfather's  death,  whatever  Ralph 
might  urge  to  the  contrary — Here  the  letter  ended ;  the 
remainder  of  the  page  had  been  torn  off. 

I  pointed  to  the  words,  "  five-and-twenty  thousand 
pounds,"  and  said,  "I  was  right."  "No,"  replied  Herbert, 
"  you  forget  my  grandfather's  will.  There  must  have  been 
some  change  in  the  promise  afterwards."  Yes,  I  had  for- 
gotten the  will ;  Herbert  was  right ; — the  letter  was  of  no 
consequence  to  us.  I  tried  to  feel  contented,  but  in  my 
heart  I  wished  I  had  never  read  it. 

I  pondered  upon  the  matter  a  good  deal  as  I  was  go- 
ing to  bed,  and  thought  of  it  again  the  next  morning,  and 
the  result  was  that  I  went  to  aunt  Sarah,  not  to  be  told 
how  we  were  to  lay  claim  to  more  money  than  we  pos- 
sessed, but  as  a  relief  to  my  own  mind,  and  with  the  ear- 
nest desire  to  be  made  charitable.  I  was  sure,  if  any 
person  could  put  the  case  before  me  in  the  right  point  of 
view,  it  would  be  aunt  Sarah.  Those  words,  "  whatever 
Kalph  may  urge  to*  the  contrary,"  haunted  me.  They  so 
clearly  pointed  out  my  uncle  as  the  person  who  had  inter- 
posed between  us  and  the  sum  which  my  grandfather  had 
originally  intended  for  us. 

Aunt  Sarah  put  on  her  spectacles  and  read  the  letters 
herself,  more  easily  than  I  had  done,  for  the  handwriting 
was  more  familiar  to  her.  "  It's  a  sad  business,  Sally," 
she  said,  when  she  had  finished.  "  Your  uncle  Ralph  has 
stood  in  the  way ;  there's  no  more  doubt  of  that  in  my 
mind,  than  there  is  of  the  sun's  shining.  He  always  said 
the  allowance  was  too  large,  and  put  of£  making  it  a  regu- 
lar agreement.  I  knew  that  from  your  grandfather,  but  I 
was  always  told  the  promise  was  to  be  kept.  Of  late 
years,  though,  Ralph  had  it  all  his  own  way  with  your 
grandfather,  because  of  his  cleverness  in  the  business." 
"  I  wish  I  could  shut  my  eyes  to  the  fact,"  I  said.  "  If 
one  could  only  forget,  it  would  be  easy  to  forgive."  "  We 
are  not  told  to  forget,"  said  my  aunt,  "  if  by  forgetting 
you  mean  not  owning  the  offence.  Forget  we  must  all,  so 
far  as  not  to  allow  ourselves  to  dwell  upon  a  wrong,  else 


300  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

we  cannot  hope  that  Grod  will  forget  our  sins.  But  it's 
like  all  other  questions,  there  is  only  one  way  of  answering 
it : — '  If  thy  brother  trespass  against  thee,  rebuke  him  ; 
and  if  he  repent,  forgive  him.'  This  cannot  mean,  Sally, 
putting  the  offence  in  your  pocket,  and  trying  not  to  see 
it."  "  And  yet  that  does  seem  at  first  sight  the  most 
charitable  way,"  I  said.  "  But  it  is  not  the  most  true," 
replied  my  aunt.  "  Truth  and  charity,"  I  repeated  to 
myself ;  "  they  do  not  always  seem  compatible."  "  Which 
of  them  do  you  think  you  will  find  in  Heaven  ?  "  said  my 
aunt.  "Both,  I  hope;"  and  I  could  not  help  smiling  at 
the  question.  "  Then  they  may  both  be  met  with  upon 
earth,  Sally,  Truth  and  false  charity,  indeed,  cannot  live 
together  ;  but  truth  and  right  charity  can  never  be  sepa- 
rated. And  we  may  be  quite  sure,  therefore,  that  whatever 
is  not  true  is  not  charitable."  "  I  suppose  it  is  not,"  I 
said  ;  '•  and  I  hope  that  may  account  for  the  irritation  one 
feels  when  very  good-natured  people  will  shut  their  eyes 
to  actual  facts,  and  insist  upon  taking  the  part  of  the  per- 
son they  consider  accused."  "  It  is  another  form  of 
sinning  in  a  virtue,"  said  my  aunt ;  "  and  it  ends  in  the 
contrary  vice.  False  charity  makes  u&  uncharitable.  I 
have  heard  six  innocent  people  condemned  for  the  sake  of 
charity,  as  it  was  called,  to  one  who  had  acted  wrongly. 
No,  Sally,  there's  nothing  like  truth  in  all  things ;  and, 
what  is  more,  we  need  never  be  afraid  of  it."  "  Not  in  this 
case,"  I  said.  ''  No  ;  neither  in  this  case  nor  in  any  case. 
Did  you  ever  watch  your  own  mind  when  you  had  buried 
the  memory  of  a  good  deed  in  the  bottom  of  your  heart, 
and  tried  to  forget  it  ?  "  "I  am  afraid  one  always  carries 
about  the  consciousness  of  it,"  I  said.  "  Yes  ;  and  a  much 
larger  consciousness  than  it  has  any  right  to  ;  but  take  it 
out  and  look  at  it,  and  hold  it  up  to  the  light,  the  true 
light,  and  see  what  it's  worth,  and  ten  to  one  but  it  shrinks 
to  nothing.  And  so  it  is  with  every  thing  else.  By  no\ 
seeing  things  clearly  we  exaggerate  them.  It  is  not  truth 
which  ever  does  us  harm ;  and  when  we  want  to  forgive 
those  who  have  done  us  an  injury,  the  best  way  is  not  to 
try  and  persuade  ourselves  that  wrong  is  not  wrong,  but  to 
look  at  the  offence  fairly,  kneeling  before  God,  and  pray- 
ing Him  to  give  us  a  true  understanding,  and  then  to 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  80  i 

forgive,  because  we  ourselves  are  sinners.  The  same  rule 
holds  good  when  we  would  make  others  charitable.  It 
only  irritates  and  aggravates  the  bad  feeling  to  endeavour 
to  convince  people  against  their  senses."  "  And  in  cases 
where  there  is  no  repentance  shown,"  I  said,  "we  must 
still  forgive."  "  Yes ;  fully  and  freely.  God  only  can 
make  conditions,  because  He  only  is  perfect.  Yet  we  are 
so  far  called  upon  to  be  like  Him,  that  we  must  give  op- 
portunities of  repentance ;  we  must  tell  our  brother  his 
fault."  "  In  this  case,  however,  there  is  no  actual  fault  to 
tell,"  I  said ;  "  and  it  would  be  wrong  and  unfitting  for  a 
niece  to  express  suspicion  of  an  uncle." 

"  Then  leave  the  letters  with  me,  Sally.  It's  not  often 
that  your  uncle  Ralph  and  I  have  words  together,  but  I 
will  give  them  to  him,  and  tell  him  you  have  read  them." 
"  And  make  him  desperately  angry,"  I  said.  "  Let  it  be  ; 
if  he  is  angry  it  will  be  because  he  feels  he  has  done 
wrong,  and  so,  one  day,  maybe  there  may  come  repentance. 
Grod  grant  it  to  him,  and  to  us,  for  all  we  have  done 
amiss." 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

I  DO  not  know  what  passed  between  aunt  Sarah  and  my 
uncle  on  that  occasion.  Aunt  Sarah  never  mention- 
ed the  interview,  and  I  could  judge  of  it  only  by  its 
results.  My  uncle's  face,  when  I  met  him  after  I  knew 
that  it  had  taken  place,  brought  the  recollection  of  the 
November  mist — darker,  more  intensely  gloomy,  than  I 
had  ever  in  my  life  seen  it.  But  when  my  mother 
received  him  with  her  usual  gentle,  though  somewhat  dis- 
tant courtesy,  and  Joanna  and  Hester  appeared  as  uncon- 
strained as  ever,  it  passed  off,  and  he  was  then  graciously 
attentive  to  all,  especially  to  me.  I  could  scarcely, 
indeed,  escape  from  his  solicitations  that  I  would  go  with 
him  to  East  Side,  and  give  my  opinion  as  to  what  was 
being  done  there.  Happily,  the  holidays  were  then  fast 
coming  to  an  end,  and  I  was  able  to  make  my  constant 
occupation  an  excuse  for  declining. 

The  marriagp  was  not  to  take  place  till  the  winter^ 


802  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

and  in  the  meantime  our  daily  life  went  on  nmch  in  its 
usual  way.  Marriage  seemed  becoming  quite  an  ordinary 
event,  fox  Reginald  was  engaged,  about  this  time,  to  a 
friend  of  Caroline's,  an  amiable  person  with  some  fortune, 
and  likely,  we  hoped,  to  make  him  happy.  He  was  urgent 
that  one  of  us  should  go  up  to  London  to  make  her  ac- 
quaintance, and  my  mother  wished  the  same  ;  and  at  last  it 
was  settled  that  Joanna  should  pay  Caroline  a  visit.  I  was 
glad  for  her  to  have  the  change,  but  I  could  not  help  fear- 
ing the  effect.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  been  away 
from  Carsdale  since  our  misfortunes,  and  I  was  afraid 
the  contrast  of  the  two  houses  would  make  her  more  than 
ever  impatient  of  home  cares.  My  own  thoughts  were,  in 
a  measure,  diverted  from  ourselves,  by  the  state  of  the 
family  at  Lowood.  Lady  Emily's  father.  Lord  Aylmer, 
had  died  some  months  before.  It  was  a  terrible  blow  to 
the  family,  and  put  an  end  for  the  time,  as  I  supposed,  to 
the  idea  of  Mr.  Beresford's  marriage.  His  grief  was  exces- 
sive, and  he  devoted  himself  to  comfort  his  .mother  and 
his  unmarried  sister,  and  went  abroad  with  them.  Still 
there  was  the  same  tacit  understanding  between  him  and 
Sophia,  as  Lady  Emily  always  told  me ;  and  I  was  sure 
she  must  know,  for  Sophia  was  now  a  great  deal  at 
Lowood.  She  had  lost  her  step-mother,  who  died  about 
the  same  time  as  Lord  Aylmer,  and  her  father  being  in 
India,  she  had  no  other  home  till  his  return.  I  do  not 
think  that  she  and  her  step-mother  had  ever  been  very 
happy  together,  for  Mrs.  Grant  possessed  a  hasty,  domi- 
neering spirit,  and  I  had  often  heard  from  Lady  Emily  of 
the  trials  which  the  poor  girl  had  to  endure.  But  Mrs. 
Grant  had  taken  the  care  of  her  from  infancy,  and  the  tie 
between  them  could  not  be  severed  without  much  pain ; 
and  though  I  had  no  doubt  that  Sophia  would  eventually 
be  much  happier  than  she  had  evjer  been  before,  yet,  for 
the  time,  her  spirits  were  greatly  depressed.  It  was  this 
circumstance  which  induced  my  mother  to  consent,  almost 
more  willingly  than  myself,  that  Hester  should  go  to  Lo- 
wood frequently.  It  was  a  relief  to  Lady  Emily  to  have 
her  there,  and  a  great  comfort  to  Sophia  ;  and  my  mother 
had  taken  the  same  fancy  to  the  latter  that  I  had,  and 
was   always  inclined   to   grant  a  request  made   by  her. 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LII^E.  303 

Old  people — and  my  mother  was  really  looking  and  feel- 
ing old — are  very  much  attracted  by  warmth  of  expres- 
sion, joined  to  a  respectful  manner,  in  the  young ;  and 
Sophia  Grant  was  remarkable  for  both.  I  used  often  to 
laugh  and  tell  her,  that  she  never  had  a  friend,  except 
Hester,  younger  than  forty. 

I  would  rather,  myself,  that  Hester  should  have  been 
kept  steadily  at  work  with  me  ;  and  now  and  then  I 
almost  annoyed  Lady  Emily  by  the  difficulties  I  put  in 
the  way  of  the  visits.  She  saw  the  matter,  however, 
really  in  the  same  light  that  I  did,  and  promised  that 
when  Mr.  Beresford  came  to  Lowood,  she  would  not  ask 
Hester  so  frequently.  He  was  in  England  again,  but 
kept  away  just  then  by  business,  and  Lady  Emily  was 
herself  engaged  ver}'-  much  with  Mr.  Rivers  and  the  chil- 
dren, so  that  Sophia  really  needed  comfort  and  compan- 
ionship. I  cannot  say  I  was  at  all  sorry  for  Mr.  Beresford's 
absence,  as  I  did  not  want  a  renewal  of  the  poetical  read- 
ings whilst  other  people  were  paying  visits.  It  might 
be  safe  for  him,  with  a  pre-attachment ;  but  I  was  not 
quite  so  sure  about  Hester. 

I  hope  I  shall  not  be  accused  of  match-making  and 
manoeuvring,  if  I  confess  that  I  watched,  with  some  de- 
gree of  anxiety,  the  effect  of  Hester's  absence  upon  Mr- 
Malcolm.  But  he  was  the  most  quiet  mannered,  unexcit- 
able,  devoted  of  clergymen.  If  he  had  been  one  degree  less 
entirely  earnest,  I  could  have  been  provoked  with  the  way 
in  which  he  used  to  exclaim,  "  Oh  !  indeed  ! "  when  I  told 
him  that  Hester  was  gone  away  for  a  few  days.  There  was 
no  occasion  for  him  to  fall  in  love  with  her  if  he  did  not  like 
it ;  but  she  really  deserved  a  little  more  thought  than  he 
appeared  to  bestow  upon  her. 

He  came  to  me,  however,  one  day,  when  Hester  was  at 
Lowood,  and  said,  with  evident  delight,  "  that  he  and 
Herbert  had  been  asked  to  dine  there,  and  he  should  cer- 
tainly make  a  point  of  going."  I  was  pleased — it  was 
quite  impossible  to  help  the  feeling ;  but  if  it  was  wrong 
I  was  punished  for  it  the  next  moment,  for  he  added.  "  he 
was  very  anxious  to  meet  a  celebrated  traveller,  who  was 
staying  there."  I  hope  he  did  not  notice  the  cross  tone 
in  which  I  answered  that,  "  I  did  not  much  care  for  tra- 


304    '"  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

vellers  myself,  they  were  generally  dull,  and  kept  their 
anecdotes  for  their  books."  "  Had  I  any  commands  for 
Lowood  ?  "  was  the  next  question.  "  He  had  been  asked 
by  Herbert  to  inquire."  "  No,  nothing,  I  was  much 
obliged,  I  had  sent  over  a  parcel  that  morning  ;"  and  he 
took  up  his  hat  and  departed,  saying,  "  he  saw  that  I  was 
busy."  I  was  not  particularly  busy,  but  I  felt  quite  put 
out,  and  I  went  to  read  for  half  an  hour  to  my  mother, 
before  the  children  came  for  their  afternoon  lessons,  in 
order  to  divert  my  thoughts. 

But  just  as  I  had  opened  the  book  we  were  inter- 
rupted. 

A  special  messenger  from  Lowood  had  brought  a  note, 
and  was  waiting  for  an  answer.     It  was  from  Lady  Emily. 

"  My  dear  Sarah, — It  has  just  occurred  to  me  as  a 
possibility  that  you  may  be  persuaded  to  come  over  to  us 
this  evening  with  your  brother  and  Mr.  Malcolm.  I  would 
not  ask  you  to  leave  your  mother,  but  we  have  a  special 

attraction,  which  we  may  never  have  again  —  Mr. , 

the  celebrated  traveller.  He  is  with  us  only  for  one  day. 
We  don't  dine  till  half-past  six,  so  you  will  have  quite 
sufficient  time  to  get  rid  of  your  children.  It  is  not  in  the 
least  a  formal  party,  and  you  can  leave  as  early  as  you 
like.  I  would  offer  you  a  bed,  but  I  know  you  would  not 
accept  it.  I  am  afraid  you  will  say  no,  because  of  your 
mother ;  but  do  find  some  one  who  will  be  with  her  just 
for  two  or  three  hours.  I  shall  not  tell  Hester  I  have 
asked  you,  hoping  to  surprise  her." 

It  would  be  very  pleasant,  but  it  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion ;  and  I  was  upon  the  point  of  sitting  down  to  writt 
my  refusal,  when  my  mother  insisted  upon  seeing  the  note. 
"  What  was  I  going  to  say  ?  "  "  Decline  ?  "  "  She  would 
not  hear  of  such  a  thing ;  it  would  make  her  quite  unhappy. 
I  had  so  few  pleasures,  and  to  go  with  Herbert  and  Mr. 
Malcolm  would  be  such  a  treat."  She  urged  and  entreated, 
till  at  length  I  really  felt  that  I  should  vex  her  by  insist- 
ing upon  having  my  own  way ;  and,  after  making  her  con- 
sent that  Mrs.  Blair  should  he  asked  to  drink  tea  with 
her,  and  that  she  would  not  sit  up  for  me,  I  wrote  what,  I 
must  own,  was  a  very  willing  acceptance. 

A  great  change  it  was  from  the  school-room  in  Cross- 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  305 

street,  to  the  brilliantly  lighted  drawing-room  at  Lowood. 
It  was  the  first  time  foi;  many  months  that  I  had  been  in 
a  large  party ;  and  my  last  recollection  of  any  scene  of 
the  kind  was  the  dinner  party  in  Harley-street.  I  was 
more  peaceful,  if  not  happier,  now,  than  I  was  then.  The 
worst  had  come,  and  was  over.  There  were  several  stran- 
gers in  the  room,  and  their  number  at  first  bewildered  me, 
and  I  could  not  see  whether  Hester  was  present  5  but 
Sophia  Grant  was  sitting,  half-hidden  by  a  screen.  I  went 
up  to  her  and  began  talking,  and  Mr.  Malcolm  joined  us. 
Close  to  us  was  the  lion  of  the  evening — the  traveller ; 
but  so  many  persons  had  gathered  round  him  that  I  could 
not  hear  what  he  said,  and  could  only  see  a  good-humoured, 
clever,  bronzed  face,  which  -looked  as  if  he  had  firmness 
and  decision  to  surmount  any  difficulties.-  Mr.  Malcolm 
was  soon  drawn  into  the  magic  circle,  and  I  thought  he 
was  quite  engrossed. 

I  began  asking  where  Hester  was.  "  She  did  not  feel 
very  well  this  afternoon,"  replied  Sophia  ;  "  that  is  the 
reason  she  is  so  late.!'  Mr.  Malcolm  turned  round 
quickly  just  at  this  moment,  and  twisted  Sophia's  chair 
so  awkwardly  that  he  was  obliged  to  apologise.  She 
smiled,  and  went  on.  "  It  is  only  a  headache — nothing  to 
look  grave  about ;  and  here  she  is."  No  one  noticed  her 
when  she  came  into  the  room,  not  even  Mr.  Malcolm, 
though  he  was  standing  where  I  should  have  thought  he 
must  have  seen  her.  Her  start  of  delight,  when  she  per- 
ceived me,  was  really  charming ;  and,  safe  from  observa- 
tion, thanks  to  the  celebrated  man,  she  gave  me  a  kiss,  and 
whispered  that  I  was  worth  all  the  travellers  that  were 
ever  heard  of.  "  And  you  came  with  Herbert  ? "  she  said. 
"Yes;  Herbert  and  Mr.  Malcolm."  Her  eye  glanced 
quickly  round  the  room.  "  Herbert !  I  dont  see  him." 
He  was  nearly  opposite  to  her,  but  she  passed  him  over, 
"  I  don't  see  him ;  where  do  you  say  he  is  ?  "  She  moved 
impatiently,  and  stood,  by  accident,  side  by  side  with  Mr. 
Malcolm.  He  perceived  her  then,  and  spoke,  but  in  the 
very  coldest  tone  possible.  It  was  really  tiresome  to  see 
a  person  who,  in  general,  was  so  pleasing,  and  so  soon  at 
his  ease,  put  on  such  a  stiff  manner.  Dinner  was  announced, 
and  th^  guests  moved  off.    Mr.  Malcolm  offered  his  arm  to 


306  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

me.  Hester  came  behind  with  an  elderly  gentleman,  "whosi 
name  I  did*not  know.  Mr.  Malcolm  might  have  managed 
to  sit  between  us,  but  instead,  he  made  rather  a  point  of 
placing  himself  on  the  other  side,  so  as  to  be  near  an  old 
lady  whom  I  believed  he  had  never  met  before. 

The  dinner  was  exceedingly  agreeable,  totally  unlike 
an  ordinary  dinner-party.  Mr.  Rivers  always  knew  how 
to  make  people  talk,  and  the  great  traveller  was  too  sim- 
ple-minded and  kind-hearted  to  refuse  to  be  agreeable. 
He  had  interesting  things  to  tell,  and. he  told  them  pleas- 
antly ;  and  every  one  who  had  questions  to  ask  was  at- 
tended to  ;  and  at  last  all  shyness  was  at  an  end,  and  even 
Hester,  the  youngest  of  the  party,  ventured  to  raise  her 
voice,  and  inquire  if  he  had  ever  met  with  some  peculiar, 
kind  of  serpent,  of  which  she  had  bgen  reading.  She  was 
listening  with  the  greatest  interest  to  the  answer,  and 
every  one  else  was  listening  also,  and  therefore,  I  suppose 
insensible  to  other  sounds,  when  the  dining-room  door 
was  thrown  wide  open,  and  the  butler  announced  Mr. 
Beresford.  Lady  Emily  scarcely  looked  surprised,  and 
only  remarked,  that  she  thought  he  would  come  if  he  pos- 
sibly could.  Mr.  Beresford  entered,  full  of  apologies,  but 
no  one  seemed  to  require  them,  for  he  was  a  universal  fa- 
vourite. He  had  travelled  fifty  miles,  he  said,  for  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  his  friend,  the  traveller,  and  the  com- 
pliment implied  was  received  as  cordially  as  it  was  offered. 
Mr.  Beresford,  I  found,  was  as  much  at  home  in  scientific 
questions  as  in  poetry.  All  this  time  Sophia  Grant  had 
scarcely  lifted  her  eyes  from  the  table, — she  was  perfectly 
pale  with  pleasure.  Mr.  Beresford  looked  across  the  ta- 
ble, and  smiled,  as  he  saw  her ;  and  then  some  other  feel- 
ing came  over  him,  and  his  eyes  sparkled,  and  he  hurried 
round  and  shook  hands  with  her  ;  but,  whilst  the  colour 
mounted  to  her  cheeks,  and  she  slightly  moved,  as  if  to 
make  room  for  him  by  her  side,  I  heard  him  say  to  Hes 
ter, — "  Miss  Mortimer  !  what  a  delightful  surprise  !  " 
Hester's  satisfaction  was  entirely  unconstrained.  She 
was  exceedingly  pleased  to  see  him,  and  she  showed  it. 
He  sat  down  between  Sophia  and  herself,  and  they  were 
all  quickly  engaged  in  conversation.  Hester  had  been 
reading  some  book  he  had  recommended,  and  was  prepar 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  307 

ed,  she  said,  to  have  an  argument  with  him ;  and  I  almost 
thought  the  subject  would  have  been  entered  upon  at  once, 
Mr.  Beresford  seemed  so  bent  upon  hearing  what  she 
thought ;  but  he  was  obliged  to  attend  to  his  dinner,  which 
was  disturbing  the  general  order  of  the  table.  I  had 
time  for  all  these  remarks,  for  my  neighbours,  on  each  side, 
were  wonderfully  silent.  One  was  listening  to  the  travel- 
ler, the  other, — Mr.  Malcolm,  told  me  he  had  a  headache. 

The  gentlemen  sat  long  after  dinner,  enjoying,  I  sup- 
posed, the  recital  of  anecdotes  and  adventures.  Hester 
and  Sophia  went  away  to  their  own  rooms,  before  coffee  was 
brought;  and  whilst  two  ladies,  cousins  of  Mr.  E-ivers, 
and  the  only  lady  guests  present,  besides  myself,  were 
looking  over  some  prints,  I  had  time  for  a  little  conversa- 
tion with  Lady  Emily,  and  urged  upon  her  that  Hester 
should  return  with  me,  now  that  Mr.  Beresford  was  come. 
"  Certainly,  if  I  wished  it,"  she  said  ;  "  but  I  must  not 
think  that  Hester  was  the  least  in  the  way.  Her  brother 
and  Sophia  were  always  charmed  to  have  her,  she  suited 
them  both  so  well ;  and,  besides,  it  was  not  likely  Mr. 
Beresford  would  be  able  to  stay  more  than  a  day  ;  he 
only  came  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  the  traveller."  One 
is  ashamed  to  confess  some  fears.  I  could  not  say  how 
uncomfortable  Mr.  Beresford's  manner,  and  his  insidious 
flattery  made  me,  but  I  urged  again  that  Hester  should 
return  very  soon,  and  it  was  settled  that  she  was  to  come 
back  to  us  at  the  end  of  the  week. 

Tea  came,  and  soon  afterwards  the  gentlemen,  wander^ 
ing  into  the  room,  one  after  the  other,  and  looking  about 
them,  as  if  they  expected  to  see  that  some  wonderful  trans- 
formation had  taken  place  in  us  since  we  parted  ;  but  Mr. 
Beresford  was  not  amongst  them.  Herbert  came  up  to 
me  and  asked  what  had  become  of  Hester ;  he  had  seen 
nothing  of  her  all  the  evening.  I  supposed  she  was  with 
Miss  Grant.  "  No,  that  could  not  be,"  he  replied,  "  for 
Miss  Grant  was  sitting  in  the  ante-room  alone."  I  made 
some  other  excuse  for  her  absence,  but,  in  my  heart,  I  was 
fretted  at  it.  There  was  something  missish,  and  in  bad 
taste,  in  thus  withdrawing  from  the  general  society, 
whether  she  was  with  Sophia  or  by  herself,  and  I  planned 
a  little  lecture  for  her  upon  the  subject.     Sophia  came  in 


308  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

soon  afterwards,  and,  being  engaged  in  conversation,  I  did 
not  like  to  interrupt  her  by  inquiring  where  Hester  was ; 
and,  at  last,  as  I  knew  her  bed-room,  I  thought  I  would 
go  myself  and  find  her.  The  library-door  was  open  as  I 
passed,  and  there,  to  my  surprise,  seated  at  a  table  with 
pen,  ink,  and  paper  before  her,  I  saw  Hester,  writing  as  if 
her  existence  depended  upon  the  speed  she  was  making. 
She  was  copying  a  letter  ;  I  did  not  know  the  handwriting, 
but  it  was  a  gentleman's.  "  Oh  !  mammy  dear,"  she  ex- 
claimed, as  she  saw  me,  "  don't  come  near  me,  for  I  have 
such  a  quantity  of  work  to  do  ;"  and  she  pointed  to  four 
closely -written  pages,  much  interlined.  "  All  this  to  be 
finished  before  ten  o'clock  !  "  "  But,  my  dear  child,"  I 
exclaimed,  "  for  whom  ?  "  "  Oh  !  Mr.  Beresford  ;  and  I 
like  doing  it  for  him,  of  all  things,  because  he  has  been  so 
kind.  He  has  just  as  much  to  copy  himself;  it  is  some- 
thing of  law  business,  and  he  is  going  away  to-morrow,  and 
must  have  it  all  done  to-night ;  and  he  asked  Sophia  to 
help  him,  but  she  has  hurt  her  finger,  and  could  not,  and 
so  I  said  I  would.  It  was  worth  taking  any  trouble  to 
hear  him  say  how  much  obliged  he  felt.  He  has  been 
very  thoughtful  about  me,  and  made  the  servants  bring 
me  some  005*60,  and  he  has  been  several  times  himself  to 
know  how  I  am  getting  on.  I  don't  know,"  she  added, 
"  whether  it  is  not  pleasanter  being  here  than  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, except  missing  the  amusing  stories." 

I  was  a  great  deal  too  old  to  be  thought  9nissish,  so  I 
said,  "  Well,  perhaps  it  may  be.  I  think  I  shall  sit  here 
a  little  while  also."  Hester  was  quite  glad  she  said  to 
have  me,  and  amused  herself  with  thinking  how  strange 
Mr.  Rivers  would  think  it,  if  he  came  in  and  found  how 
quietly  we  had  taken  possession  of  his  library. 

The  remark  made  me  remember  that  it  might  be  bet- 
ter just  to  let  Lady  Emily  know  where  we  were,  and  I 
went  back  to  the  drawing-room  to  tell  her.  She  looked 
annoyed  at  such  a  task  being  inflicted  upon  Hester,  and 
said  her  brother  was  very  thoughtless  ;  but  Sophia  assured 
her  that  Hester  had  insisted  upon  undertaking  it,  and 
would  not  allow  Mr.  Beresford  to  be  blamed  ;  so  the  mat- 
ter was  taken  very  quietly,  and  I  returned  to  the  library, 
having  ordered  the  carriage  in  half  an  hour's  time.     Hes 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE.  309 

ter  was  not  alone  ;  Mr.  Beresford  was  there,  explaining  a 
sentence  which  had  some  Latin  terms  in  it,  and  which  was 
not  very  legible.  I  felt  angry  with  him,  and,  as  he  began 
an  excuse,  I  said,  "  You  ought  to  keep  a  lawyer's  clerk,  Mr. 
Beresford."  "  But  I  like  doing  it  exceedingly,"  exclaimed 
Hester ;  "  I  should  not  care  if  it  were  twice  as  long." 
"  The  value,  in  my  eyes,"  began  Mr.  Beresford, — and  then 
he  stopped,  and  looked  very  confused.  I  was  thankful  I 
was  there,  for  I  was  sure  some  senseless  compliment  was 
coming.  He  lingered  for  a  few  minutes  ;  but  when  I  took 
up  a  book,  and  seated  myself  with  the  most  determined 
air  of  not  intending  to  move,  he  went  away. 

The  carriage  was  announced  before  Hester  had  com- 
pleted her  task.  I  made  her  promise  that  she  would 
leave  it  for  Mr.  Beresford  to  finish.  It  would  not  be 
much  trouble  for  him,  and  it  was  getting  late,  and  she 
could  not  sit  up  by  herself  when  every  one  else  was  going 
to  bed.  She  wanted  to  take  it  to  her  room,  but  I  would 
not  hear  of  this,  and  I  carried  off  the  letter,  and  the  copy, 
to  give  to  Mr.  Beresford  myself,  when  I  wished  kim  good 
night. 

Hester  went  back  to  the  drawing-room  with  me ;  almost 
every  one  was  gone  except  ourselves,  and  we  stood,  for  a 
few  moments,  talking  around  the  fire,  enjoying  what  are 
almost  always  the  pleasantest  minutes  of  a  party.  Hes- 
ter's copying  was  the  subject  of  general  raillery.  Herbert 
declared  she  was  a  good  clerk  spoiled,  and  that  it  was  a 
great  pity  she  did  not  immediately  apply  for  a  situation. 
The  traveller  wished  he  could  take  her  abroad,  to  copy  in- 
scriptions and  manuscripts ;  whilst  Lady  Emily  was  a 
little  severe  upon  her  brother,  and  said  it  was  a  proof 
what  a  tyrant  he  was  by  nature.  Mr.  Beresford  listened 
to  all  that  went  on,  almost  as  quietly  as  Mr.  Malcolm, 
whose  head,  I  was  sure,  must  be  aching  terribly,  he  looked 
so  pale  and  depressed.  He  and  Mr.  Beresford  were  near 
together,  and  Mr.  Beresford  was  leaning  against  a  table, 
upon  which  stood  a  handsome  lamp.  Mr.  Rivers  asked 
his  brother-in-law  whether  he  was  really  obliged  to  leave 
them  the  next  day.  "  He  was  doubtful,"  he  replied  ;  "  he 
ought  to  go,  but  really  the  temptations  were  so  great !  If 
he  could  only  find  a  fair  excuse  to  his  conscience,  he  did 


310  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

not  know  what  he  might  be  tempted  to  do."  "  Lady 
Emily  talked  of  some  excursions  which  were  to  be  made 
this  week,"  said  Hester,  laughing ;  "  and  you  will  cer- 
tainly be  required  to  join  them."  "  I  don't  think,  my  dear 
child,"  I  observed,  "  that  you  must  yourself  enter  into 
any  plans  of  that  kind,  for  you  are  rather  wanted  at 
home."  Mr.  Beresford's  face  became  clouded ;  but  Hes- 
ter said  with  the  most  perfect  good  humour,  "  of  course, 
if  she  was  wanted  at  home,  she  would  go  directly  ;  but 
that  would  not  interfere  with  Mr.  Beresford's  duty  in 
staying ;  in  fact,  it  would  make  it  all  the  more  right  that 
he  should,  because  the  party  would  be  smaller."  Poor 
Sophia  looked  up  at  him  timidly  and  anxiously  ;  but  he 
was  moody,  and  did  not  reply  at  the  moment ;  and  whien 
Mr.  Rivers  asked  him  again  what  he  had  determined  upon, 
he  replied  that  he  could  not  tell,  he  should  wait  till  the 
morning  to  decide.  I  do  not  know  what  made  Mr.  Mal- 
colm so  particularly  awkward  just  at  that  instant,  but  he 
started,  as  if  he  had  suddenly  been  awakened  from  sleep, 
and,  by  some  unhappy,  energetic  movement,  pushed  the 
table,  and  down  it  came,  falling  upon  Mr.  Beresford,  as 
he  was  trying  to  save  it,  and  giving  him  a  severe  blow  on 
the  head.  Every  person's  attention  was  instantly  given  to 
him;  and  some  eau  de  Cologne  was  brought  to  bathe  his  tem- 
ples, for  he  was  a  little  faint.  I  did  not  believe  that  the 
injury  could  be  of  any  material  consequence,  and,  the  car- 
riage being  ready,  I  thought  we  should  be  better  away  ; 
so  I  said  good  night  to  Lady  Emily,  and  was  looking 
round  for  Hester,  when  I  saw  that  she  had  gone  to  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  to  say  something  to  Mr.  Malcolm, 
who  had  quite  the  air  of  a  criminal.  It  was  a  little  spe- 
cimen of  though tfulness  which  pleased  me.  He  was  so 
entirely  the  person  to  be  pitied,  but  no  one,  except  Hester, 
seemed  aware  of  it ;  yet,  I  think,  upon  the  whole,  the  ac- 
cident did  him  good,  for  he  was  quite  lively  as  we  were 
going  home,  and  did  not  once  complain  of  his  head. 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  Sll 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

That  dinner  party  was  rather  a  pleasant  diversion  to  my 
round  of  duties,  and  I  liked  to  remember  it ;  especially 
when  my  mother  had  Hester  back  again  safely  under  her 
wing,  and  I  saw  how  entirely  she  had  escaped  any  spoil- 
ing from  Mr.  Beresford's  nonsense,  though  he  did  remain 
at  Lowood  two  days  longer  than  he  said  he  should, — in 
fact,  all  the  time  she  was  there.  I  could  not  bring  my- 
self seriously  to  believe  that  he  had  any  feeling  for  Hes- 
ter. If  he  had,  he  was  acting  so  dishonourably,  that  I 
should  have  shrunk  with  terror  from  the  thought  of  the 
poor  child's  trusting  her  happiness  to  him.  Yet  his  man- 
ner was  very  suspicious,  and  to  me,  therefore,  excessively 
annoying.*  Whether  Lady  Emily  and  Sophia  saw  it,  I 
could  not  tell ;  but  I  had  great  trust  in  Sophia's  simplicity 
and  sincerity.  I  hoped  she  was  too  confiding  to  be  jeal- 
ous, and  that  Mr.  Beresford's  real  affection  would  bring 
him  back  to  her,  when  once  the  attraction  of  Hester's 
pretty  face  was  removed.  Lady  Emily,  I  remembered, 
had  once  said  that  he  was  fickle,  and  from  the  light  way 
in  which  she  had  used  the  term,  I  quite  understood  that 
he  was  a  person  likely  to  be  caught  by  beauty,  and  say 
silly  things,  and  pay  attentions  just.for  the  sake  of  amuse- 
ment ;  and  I  was  provoked  beyond  expression,  at  the  idea 
that  Hester  should  be  brought  in  contact  with  such  folly. 
Possibly,  he  took  advantage  of  his  position  in  regard  to 
Sophia,  to  say  and  do  things  which,  under  other  circum- 
stances, must  have  had  a  serious  appearance.  Altogether, 
I  disliked  Hester's  being  with  him  more  than  I  can  say, 
and  thought  of  her  with  especial  satisfaction  when  I  knew 
that  she  was  setting  copies,  or  hearing  lessons,  instead  of 
listening  to  the  meaningless  flatteries  of  a  man  who,  with 
all  his  professed  high  principles,  had  not  sujQ&cient  consid- 
eration to  see  the  bad  effect  they  might  have  upon  her. 

I  did  at  one  time  think  of  speaking  upon  the  subject 
to  Lady  Emily,  but  there  was  something  repugnant  to  me 
in  the  suggestion  that  her  brother  could  be  so  silly  and 
wrong,  and  I  always  hoped  she  would  see  it  herself.  In 
the  mean  time  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  keep 


312  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

Hester  away  from  Lowood,  as  much  as  possible,  till  Mr, 
Beresford  and  Sophia  were  married.  As  for  the  child 
herself,  as  I  always  considered  her,  she  was  really  every 
day  more  and  more  charming  to  me.  Her  gaiety,  and 
energy,  and  sweet  temper,  seemed  never  to  fail ;  and  she 
was  becoming  so  thoroughly  good,  too — so  earnest  and 
watchful.  A  great  deal  of  that  was  owing  to  Mr.  Mal- 
colm, I  was  sure.  I  could  always  trace  the  effect  of  any 
particularly  striking  remark  he  had  made, — sometimes 
practically,  and  sometimes  by  a  sudden  question, — which 
showed  how  the  idea  had  been  working  in  her  mind. 

I  was  more  especially  sensible  of  the  peculiar  bright- 
ness and  hopefulness  of  her  disposition  at  that  time,  for  I 
was  very  much  tried  by  the  near  approach  of  the  marriage 
of  ray  uncle  Ralph  and  Horatia  Gray. 

The  first  of  January  was  fixed  upon.  Horatia  said 
she  liked  a  remarkable  day,  though,  as  aunt  Sarah  observed 
when  she  heard  it,  "  there  was  no  occasion  to  put  herself 
out  of  the  way  to  choose,  there  being  some  events  which 
would  make  any  day  remarkable."  My  mother  and  I 
were  told  all  that  was  to  be  done  on  the  occasion  ;  but 
Horatia  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  ask  any  person's  ad- 
vice, and  really  I  am  not  sure  that  she  in  the  least  re- 
quired it.  She  certainly  managed  very  cleverly  ;  but  the 
cleverest  thing  of  all  was,  the  mode  in  which  she  made 
every  one  believe  that  we  liked  the  marriage.  By  dint  of 
the  constant  repetition  of  "  our  family,"  and  "  my  dear 
cousins,-'  she  made  us  all  one  in  the  eyes  of  the  world ; 
and  I  was  again  and  again  seriously  congratulated  upon 
the  fortunate  family  arrangement  which  had  kept  East 
Side  still,  as  it  were,  in  our  own  hands.  The  marriage, 
too,  was  to  be  a  family  concern.  Clifton  Cottage  being 
Horatia's  residence  till  her  marriage,  she  was  able  to  ac- 
commodate Caroline,  and  her  husband  and  children  ;  and 
Caroline  had  promised  to  act  as  the  mistress  of  the  house, 
and  to  preside  at  the  great  breakfast  which  was  to  be 
given  when  my  uncle  and  Horatia  had  departed.  That 
was  one  of  the  points  which  had  puzzled  me  very  much  ; 
but  Horatia  was  never  baffled.  Vaughan  and  Reginald 
had  rooms  at  my  uncle's,  and  Joanna  returned  to  us, 
though,  as  she  took  care  to  tell  us,  it  was  only  for  tho 
time,  for  she  was  very  much  wanted  in  London. 


* 
THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  313 

Presents  are  one  of  the  important  appurtenances  of  a 
wedding,  and,  as  every  one  knows,  nothing  can  be  more 
difl&cult  to  choose.  But  Horatia  did  not  leave  it  to  us  to 
choose,  or,  at  least,  she  managed  to  give  us  a  hint  which 
we  could  not  well  refuse  to  accept.  Any  thing  valuable, 
she  quite  knew  it  would  be  out  of  our  power  to  offer ; 
but  she  contrived,  through  my  uncle,  to  suggest  to  Caro- 
line, that  she  should  be  charmed  to  have  a  bracelet  made 
of  the  hair  of  her  "  dear  cousins,"  and  fastened  by  a  clasp 
inclosing  some  of  my  father  and  mother's.  Caroline  en- 
tered into  the  notion,  and  said  at  once,  that  she  was  sure 
the  idea  would  please  us  all ;  and,  in  fact,  she  made  in- 
quiries, and  gave  a  half  order,  before  mentioning  the  sub- 
ject to  me. 

Caroline  lived  in  London  ; — we  lived  in  Carsdale.  It 
may  not,  therefore,  be  surprising  that  we  felt  differently 
on  the  point ;  but  I  gave  some  of  my  hair,  as  was  re- 
quested, because  I  had  no  reason  but  my  own  excessive 
dislike  to  offer,  for  not  doing  so. 

The  day  before  the  wedding  arrived,  and  I  went  to 
the  Cottage  to  see  Caroline,  and  look  at  the  presents 
which  Horatia  insisted  upon  exhibiting.  Their  number 
was  marvellous.  Where  Horatia  had  met  with  such  dear 
friends,  I  could  not  imagine.  There  were  fancy  brooches 
and  forget-me-not  rings,  and  embroidered  bags,  and  orna- 
mented paper  knives,  enough,  one  might  have  thought,  to 
stock  a  bazaar  ;  and  there  were  really  handsome  things 
also, — a  dressing  case,  and  an  Indian  shawl,  and  a  Honiton 
lace  veil,  and  others  of  equal  value, — which  still  more 
perplexed  my  mind.  The  world,  I  thought,  must  have  a 
very  different  opinion  of  Horatia  from  mine.  I  wonder 
whether  it  was  wrong  in  me  to  find  an  explanation  in  that 
verse  of  the  Psalms  :  "  So  long  as  thou  doest  well  unto 
thyself  men  will  speak  good  of  thee."  Horatia  was  em- 
phatically one  of  those  persons  who  know  how  to  do  well 
unto  themselves.  We  were  looking  at  the  presents,  and 
making  our  remarks  upon  them,  when  a  parcel  was  brought 
in,  directed  in  Miss  Cole's  handwriting.  Horatia's  face 
evinced  a  greater  degree  of  gratification  than  her  words. 
She  merely  said,  "  From  aunt  Sarah,  I  suppose  ; — rather 
late — but  old  people's  peculiarities  must  be  excused." 
14 


314  THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE. 

But  I  observed  that  she  unfastened  the  parcel  in  a  great 
hurry. 

It  contained  a  Bible,  handsomely  bound,  and  on  a  slip  of 
paper  was  written,  "  The  only  present  which  an  old  woman 
of  eighty-five  considers  of  any  value."  I  think  Horatia 
was  softened  by  the  remembrance,  and  the  mode  in  which 
it  was  shown.  "  Aunt  Sarah  is  very  good,"  she  said  ;  "  one 
could  almost  wish  we  were  all  like  her."  It  was  the  only 
expression  of  genuine  respect  for  any  individual  which  I 
had  ever  heard  her  utter. 

I  went  to  see  aunt  Sarah  that  evening,  when  we  re- 
turned from  the  cottage.  I  knew  she  would  wish  to  know 
how  every  thing  would  be  managed,  and  it  was  a  comfort 
to  be  able  to  talk  to  a  person  who  could  so  thoroughly  un- 
derstand all  the  disagreeables.  I  told  her  how  pleased 
Horatia  was  with  her  present,  and  this  pleased  her. 
"  You  will  look  at  things  very  differently,  Sally,  when  you 
are  as  old  as  I  am,  from  what  you  do  now,"  she  said. 
"  We  are  learning  charity  all  our  way  through  life,  but 
there's  nothing  makes  the  lesson  perfect  like  looking  at 
death.  We  want  mercy  ourselves  then,  and  so  we  would 
fain  have  it  for  others.  The  woman's  an  unprincipled 
woman, — I  don't  doubt  it, — but  more's  the  pity;  and, 
perchance,  if  those  about  her  do  their  duty,  she  may  be- 
come better.  Anyhow,  it's  fitting  that  an  effort  should 
be  made,  and  there  can  be  none  where  there's  no  kind- 
ness." '•  I  must  try  and  remember  that,"  I  said,  "  for  it 
is  the  only  thing  that  will  help  me  forward.  I  know  I  am 
like  a  piece  of  ice  to  her,  continually,  and  the  moment  I 
try  not  to  be,  I  feel  as  if  I  were  a  hypocrite."  "  Don't 
force  yourself  to  be  too  much  with  her,"  replied  my  aunt, 
"  there  can  be  no  good  in  that.  When  there's  a  barrier 
between  folks,  such  as  there  must  be  between  you,  a  civil 
distance  is  the  only  safety ; — only  let  it  be  civil,  and 
then,  if  ever  the  time  should  come  for  something  better, 
you  won't  have  to  begin  by  begging  pardon,  which,  with 
most  folks,  is  an  awkward  lousiness."  "  Happily,"  I  said, 
"  she  is  so  entirely  determined  not  to  be  ofi"ended,  that  it 
is  not  difiicult  to  keep  on  good  terms  with  her."  "  She 
is  as  clever  a  woman  in  her  way  as  one  might  wish  to 
meet,"  observed  aunt  Sarah.     "  She  knows  quite  well,  that 


M 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  315 

if  she  rules  herself  first,  she  may  rule  the  world  after* 
wards.  If  she  had  but. one  grain  of  honesty,  and  two  of 
kmd-heartedness,  in  her  composition,  she  might,  with 
such  self-command,  become  a  saint."  "  I  never  looked  at 
that  possibility  before,  I  must  confess,"  I  said,  smiling. 
But  aunt  Sarah  did  not  smile.  "  It's  a  serious  matter, 
Sally,"  she  said.  "  We  may  laugh  now,  but  it  will  be  no 
laughing  matter  by-and-by  to  her  that  she's  not  one,  or  at 
least,  that  she  did  not  try  to  be  one ;  nor  to  us,  that  we 
made  a  joke  about  it.  It  does  not  do,  child,"  she  added, 
and  her  eye  lighted  up  for  an  instant,  and  she  almost 
raised  herself  in  her  chair,  with  the  instinct  of  long  habit, 
— "  it  does  not  do  ever  to  let  light  words  pass  upon  such 
matters.  It's  the  evil  habit  of  the  world,  and  of  good 
folks  in  it  too ;  but  depend  upon  it.  a  light  word  is  the 
Devil's  keenest  sword."  "  And  yet  one  uses  it  very 
often,"  I  replied,,  "to  conceal  a  deeper  feeling."  "Even 
so  ;  but  watch  yourself  after  you  have  said  it,  and  you  are 
not  what  you  were  before.  People  go  to  church,  and  say 
their  prayers,  may  be  with  all  their  hearts,  and  then  they 
come  out,  and  say  something  droll  about  the  clergy- 
man's voice,  or  the  clerk's  reading ;  and  if  they  could 
measure  i\\e  warmth  of  their  souls,  '•as  they  can  the 
warmth  of  their  bodies,  they  would  find  they  were 
colder  by  ten  degrees  after  the  words  were  said  than 
before  it.  But  I  did  not  mean  to  preach  a  sermon 
to  you,  Sally,  only  there's  nothing  like  a  .  joke  for 
rubbing  the  dust  off  the  butterfly's  wing  of  religion 
And  now  tell  me  about  to-morrow, — who's  to  be 
there  2  "  "  Every  one,"  I  said,  "  except  my  mother  ;  I 
wanted  to  stay  at  home  with  her,  but  she  would  not  hear 
of  it.  Horatia  has  insisted  also  upon  having  Mr.  Rivers 
and  Lady  Emily  asked."  "  What  business  had  she  to  do 
that  ?  "  asked  my  aunt.  "  Because  she  went  out  as  com- 
panion to  Lady  Emily's  sister  ?  "  "  Not  quite,  I  suppose  ; 
but  she  makes  herself  one  of  the  family,  and  Lady  Emily 
takes  such  an  interest  in  our  concerns,  that  she  felt  her- 
self entitled  to  claim  something  of  the  same  intimacy." 
"  And  Lady  Emily  said  '  no,  of  course,"  observed  aunt 
Sarah.  "  She  talked  to  me  about  it,"  I  replied,  "  and 
said,  that  if  I  thought  my  mother  would  care,  or  if  it 


316  THE   EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE. 

would  at  all  show  respect  to  us  as  a  family,  she  would  go 
directly;  but,  otherwise,  she  had*  no  feeling  for  Horatia, 
and  did  not  think  herself  called  upon  to  pay  her  more  at- 
tention than  other  people.  Of  course,  she  should  call  and 
ask  them  to  dine,  but  she  did  not  think  that  more  was 
required.  You  know,"  I  added,  "  that  Lady  Emily  is 
very  particular  about  these  matters  of  etiquette  and  pro- 
priety, and  would  not,  on  any  account,  omit  what  she  con- 
sidered a  necessary  civility.  She  told  me,  only  the  other 
day,  that  she  was  beginning  to  think  them  more  and  more 
of  consequence."  "  To  be  sure  she  is,"  replied  my  aunt. 
"  She's  a  kind-hearted  woman,  and  she  knows  that  if  per- 
sons wish  to  obtain  the  privilege  of  conferring  favours, 
they  must  purchase  it  with  the  current  coin  of  society  ;  no 
other  will  pass,  let  it  be  ever  so  sterling, — folks  don't  un 
derstand  what  it  means."  "  I  suppose  there  is  something 
in  that,"  I  said ;  '•  otherwise,  I  have  now  and  then  thought 
that  Lady  Emily  was  too  anxious  about  not  giving  offence 
Mr.  Rivers,  however,  is  particular,  and  I  imagine  that  has 
helped  to  make  her  so."  Ask  round  the  neighbourhood, 
and  see  the  influence  for  good  they  have  gained  by  such 
attentions,"  said  aunt  Sarah.  "  Dinner  parties,  and  all 
those  fusses  which  are  called  such  a  waste  of  time,  «,re 
good  for  nothing  in  themselves,  but  they  are  good  for 
what  you  can  get  by  them.  They  may  be  dull  and  heavy, 
as  the  money  of  the  Spartans,  but  they  serve  as  the  me- 
dium of  exchange ;  and  we  grave,  stiff  English  folks  arc 
not  fit  for  anything  else, — if  we  were  we  should  have 
found  it  out  before  this."  "  Well,"  I  said,  "  Horatia,  at 
least,  is  determined  to  make  the  most  of  them,  for  she  has 
asked  every  one,  far  and  near ;  and  Caroline  is  quite  in 
her  element,  settling  about  it  all.  I  don't  remember  to 
have  seen  her  in  such  a  state  of  excitement  since  the 
eventful  party  at  East  Side,  at  which  I  was  not  present. 
I  think  upon  the  whole,"  I  added,  "that  it  is  a  good 
thing  for  me  individually,  that  no  persons  but  myself  and 
Herbert  know  all  the  causes  of  offence  against  my  uncle 
and  Horatia :  it  helps  me  on  very  much  in  the  way  of  cor- 
diality ; — and  I  really  require  help,  for  I  blame  myself 
continually  for  my  cold  manner  to  them."  "  Persons 
of  sober  minds  are  worse  off,  in  that  respect,  than  quick- 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  317 

changing  folks,"  said  my  aunt.  "  When  they  are  poi»- 
sessed  with  an  idea  or  a  feeling  they  can't  alter,  whilst 
the  others  say  a  sharp  word  one  minute,  and  give  a  kiss 
the  next ;  and  the  kiss  remains  when  the  sharp  word  is 
forgotten.  But  we  must  take  ourselves  as  we  are,  Sally, 
and  if  you  can't  twist  and  turn  as  often  as  you  would 
wish,  you  must  remember  that  you  help  to  keep  the  family 
steady."  "  I  feel  so  often,"  I  said,  "  that  if  I  were 
Horatia  I  could  not  endure  myself;  but  she  never  appears 
to  see  any  things  cold  or  distant.  She  asked  me  to  be 
bridesmaid,  and  I  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  getting  off, 
and  only  succeeded  because  I  could  not  be  certain  of 
being  able  to  leave  my  mother  when  the  day  came.  But 
she  took  it  quite  quietly,  though  my  manner  was  so 
miserably  constrained,  that  I  could  scarcely  bear  the  con-  ^ 
sciousness  of  it.  Now,  Joanna,  and  Caroline's  two  little 
girls,  are  to  be  bridesmaids.  Hester  managed  to  escape 
by  putting  the  children  in  her  place ;  but  I  am  afraid  any 
one  but  Horatia  would  have  been  annoyed."  ''  The  child 
is  wilful,"  said  aunt  Sarah  ;  "  she  will  learn  before  long, 
that  we  must  make  sacrifices  of  feeling  as  well  as  of  other 
things.  There's  no  good  in  making  an  enemy,  except  in 
cases  of  right  or  wrong.  And  so  Caroline  is  busy  with 
the  grand  breakfast,  is  she  ?  "  "  Yes  ;  they  are  to  be  at 
the  church  at  ten  o'clock,  and  afterwards  they  go  back  to 
the  Cottage,  and  my  uncle  and  Horatia  set  off  for  Lon- 
don in  the  afternoon.  And,  in  three  weeks  time,  they 
come  back  to  East  Side.  Oh  !  aunt  Sarah,  who  could 
have  imagined  that  I  should  ever  have  mentioned  the  fact 
so  calmly?"  "It's  the  mercy  of  God,"  said  my  aunt, 
"  step  by  step,  leading  us  on.  People  wish  to  know  the 
future  at  the  beginning ;  if  the  wish  were  granted,  three- 
fourths  of  us  would  go  mad." 


CHAPTEK    XXXVIII. 

Horatia  Gray's  wedding  day  stands  out  distinctly,  with 
its  forced  light  and  dark  shadows,  amongst  my  reminis- 
cences of  the  past.  We  met  in  the  old  church  of  Cars 
dale — a  brilliant  assemblage,  gay  with  dresses  of  the  col 


318  THE    EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

ours  of  the  rainbow  ;  but  too  many,  who  had  no  personal 
interest  in  the  scene,  only  retaining  their  gravity  from  the 
sacredness  of  the  place  and  the  service.  I  had  scarcely, 
indeed,  ever  seen  the  church  so  full ;  from  one  cause  or 
another  all  Carsdale  had  a  desire  to  be  present  at  Mr. 
Ralph  Mortimer's  marriage.  I  heard  loud  whispers  a 
propos  to  the  quaintness  of  the  bridegroom,  and  the  age 
of  the  bride ;  and  I.  felt  something  of  the  absurdity  for 
them,  and  a  good  deal,  perhaps,  for  ourselves.  But  it  was 
a  real  and  solemn  ceremony  to  me — all  the  more  solemn 
because  I  felt  in  my  own  mind  how  much  of  moc^kery  there 
might  be  in  it.  Horatia  looked  well  and  handsome,  my 
uncle  smooth  as  polished  marble,  and  both  as  cold.  Mr. 
Benson,  the  old  Rector,  married  them.  Mr.  Malcolm  was 
present,  but  only  as  a  spectator,  and  as  he  stood  by  Hester 
and  myself,  grave  and  earnest,  and  sharing,  as  I  well  knew, 
our  feelings,  I  could  not  but  think  how  differently  I  should 
listen  to  the  same  words,  and  look  upon  the  same  scene,  if  I 
were  present  to  see  my  darling  intrusted  to  him,  to  guard 
her  in  her  journey  through  life.  That  thought  carried  me 
away  farther  than  it  should  have  done,  to  a  quiet  parsonage, 
and  a  country  village,  and  a  home  for  my  mother,  and  my- 
self near — a  dream  of  an  earthly  future  from  which  I  was 
awakened  to  bestow  the  first  kiss  of  cordiality  upon  Hora- 
tia Mortimer. 

"  And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage  bell." 

At  the  wedding  of  two  persons  who  had  neither  parents, 
nor  sisters,  nor  brothers,  to  grieve  for  the  breaking  up  of 
a  home,  why  should  not  all  be  merry  ?  The  laugh  and 
the  jest  went  round,  and  healths  were  prop.osed,  and 
speeches  were' made,  and  my  uncle  and  Horatia  bore  their 
parts  well,  assuming  no  airs  of  youth,  but  contented,  as 
they  said,  with  the  "  sober  certainty  of  waking  bliss,"  be- 
longing to  a  more  advanced  age ;  and  then  Horatia  con- 
fided' her  guests  to  the  hospitality  of  Caroline  and  Mr. 
Blair,  "  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ralph  Mortimer  set  off  in  a 
dark  green  chariot  with  four  horses  for  London."  I  quote 
from  the  county  paper,  in  which  a  full  account  of  the  mar- 
riage and  the  festivities  appeared  the  next  week. 

Joanna  remained  with  Caroline.     I  went  back  to  my 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LQ'E.  319 

mother.  Hester  was  persuaded  to  stay,  and  I  thought 
not  much  against  her  inclinatioUj  since  she  was  to  return 
with  Herbert  and  Mr.  Malcolm,  who  were  to  dine  at  the 
Cottage,  The  carriage  which  took  me  back  was  a  return 
fly,  and  as  it  passed  aunt  Sarah's  door  I  thought  I  would 
stop  and  see  her  first.  I  opened  the  door  as  usual,  and 
went  into  the  parlour  ;  but  not  finding  her  there,  I  sup- 
posed she  might  be  lying  down  in  the  drawing-room. 
Whilst  I  was  debating  whether  I  should  ring  the  bell  and 
inquire,  Miss  Cole  came  in.  She  had  heard  my  step,  and 
was  come  to  tell  me  that  this  was  a  bad  day  with  aunt 
Sarah,  who  had  passed  a  restless  night,  and  was  suffering 
from  great  oppression  on  the  chest;  in  fact,  Miss  Cole 
was  anxious  about  her,  and  wished  very  much  that  I  could 
persuade  her  to  see  a  medical  man. 

I  found  her  sitting  up  in  her  great  chair,  close  to  the 
fire,  and  wrapped  up  in  a  large,  heavy  shawl ;  but  she 
complained  bitterly  of  the  cold,  and  her  hands  were  like 
ice.  She  was  very  languid,  and  I  could  not  enliven  her 
by  any  thing  I  said,  though  I  tried  to  amuse  her  by  .the 
details  of  the  marriage  party.  Her  cheeks  were  quite 
sunken,  and  her  eyes  dark  and  dim,  and  yet,  now  and 
then,  she  looked  up  at  me  with  a  smile, — which  soon,  how- 
ever, passed  away  into  a  sigh — trying  to  make  me  feel 
that  she  liked  to  have  me  with  her.  Having  finished  all 
I  could  remember,  I  stopped  and  told  her  I  was  afraid  I 
should  tire  her  ;  but  she-  answered,  "  No,  child  ;  there's 
not  enough  in  it  all  to  tire  me  ;  and  it's  pleasant  enough  to^ 
hear.  Go  on  ;  'tis  an  odd  story  of  a  world  that  I  once  lived 
in."  "  Not  a  very  pleasant  world,"  I  said.  "  No,  indeed, 
one  may  well  be  glad  to  leave  it ; — glad  from  one's  heart. 
It's  a  longing  feeling  that  comes  at  last,  Sally ;  but  God's 
time  is  the  best."  "And  whilst  there  is  life  there  is  work," 
I  said;  "at  least,  I  am  sure  you  make  me  think  so." 
"  Even  so,  child ;  work  to  the  last  and  latest  breath  ;  and 
who  would  not  work  for  Him  ?"  She  clasped  her  fingers 
together,  and  I  saw  that  she  was  praying.  "  Oh !  aunt 
Sarah,"  I  said,  after  a  short  pause,  "  if  you  could  only 
teach  me  to  feel  always  that  it  is  work  for  Him,  the  bur- 
den of  life  would  be  light  indeed."  "  There's  no  teaching 
it,"  replied  my  aunt ;  "  it's  the  one  thing  which  each  must 


320  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

learn  for  himself.  But  when  we  set  ourselves  to  do  Hia 
will  we  are  learning  it,  even  though  we  don't  know  it. 
There's  a  sore  trial  in  middle  life,  Sally.  Hearts  grow 
cold  with  care,  and  the  life  He  gives,  too  often  seems 
buried,  because  of  the  load  of  earthly  thought  above  it ; 
and  then  we  appear  to  ourselves  to  live  to  this  world, 
whilst  the  things  of  this  crowd  upon  us,  in  church,  and  in 
praj^er,  and  when  we  open  our  Bibles  to  read.  But  where 
the  will  is  steadfast,  and  sin  withstood,  the  true  life  springs 
forth  again  as  the  earthly  tabernacle  decays.  Old  age  is 
a  blessed  time.  It  gives  us  leisure  to  put  off  our  earthly 
garments  one  by  one,  and  dress  ourselves  for  Heaven." 
Miss  Cole  came  into  the  room,  just  then,  and  interrupted 
us,  I  suspect  on  purpose,  for  she  brought  with  her  a  biscuit 
and  a  glass  of  wine,  which  she  wanted  aunt  Sarah  to  take, 
saying,  our  conversation  had  been  very  long.  But  my 
aunt  was  not  willing  to  part  from  me.  "  If  you  must  go 
now,  come  again,  and  bring  your  mother  back  with  3'ou, 
Sally,"  she  said  ;  "  for  may  be,  when  the  evening  comes, 
I  shall  be  good  for  more  than  I  g,m  now,  and  it's  a  plea- 
sant sight  to  see  you  by  me."  I  lingered  still,  and  took 
her  cold  hand,  and  held  it  between  mine,  feeling  how  dear 
it  was  to  me,  and  hoping  to  give  it  warmth  and  life,  and 
so  we  sat  for  some  time  ;  until  at  length  she  leant  her  head 
against  her  chair,  and  fell  asleep,  and  then  I  stole  away  to 
my  mother,  and  in  the  afternoon  we  returned  again. 

Whilst  the  merriment  of  the  marriage  feast  was  to  be 
heard  at  Clifton  Cottage,  my  mother  and  I  sat  in  aunt 
Sarah's  bedroom,  talking  quietly  of  the  events  of  the  past, 
and  the  "  mercies  that  had  followed  us  all  the  days  of  our 
lives."  We  were  cheerful  and  hopeful  when  we  parted, 
but  I  could  not  conceal  from  myself  that  a  change  had 
taken  place  for  the  worse,  and  the  tears  which  I  shed  that 
night  when  I  laid  my  head  upon  my  pillow,  were  mourn- 
ful as  the  tears  of  a  death-bed. 

Three  weeks  passed  rapidly  away  ;  yet  they  did  not 
seem  rapid  to  me.  My  thoughts  were  fixed  with  dread 
upon  Horatia's  return,  and  I  longed  to  have  the  first  visit 
over.  After  that  I  felt  we  should  be  more  certain  of  our 
future  footing,  Caroline  remained  at  the  Cottage  for 
about  a  fortnight,  and  then  returned  to  London,  and  Jo- 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  821 

anna  with  her.  I  saw  in  whaj;  way  events  were  tending 
there ;  Caroline  was  making  Joanna  useful  to  her,  and  so 
did  not  object  to  taking  her  back  ;  but  the  life  she  was 
compelled  to  lead,  would  to  me  have  been  nothing  less 
than  a  humiliating  slavery.  Aunt  Joanna  was  required 
to  work  for  the  children,  to  assist  the  governess,  and  to  do 
anything  that  no  one  else  chose  to  do, — not  as  a  matter 
of  kindness,  but  of  obligation,  because  she  was  an  expense. 
The  servants  neglected  her  when  they  saw  others  do  so, 
and  thi^  made  her  angry ;  and  she  was  cross,  and  they 
were  impertinent.  It  was  a  wretched  life,  and  she  com- 
plained to  me  sadly  o^it ;  but  she  could  not  make  up  her 
mind  even  then,  to  that  which  would  have  given  her  inde- 
pendence and  self  respect ;  and  what  was  even  more  vex- 
ation?, she  could  not  see  that  she  was  neglecting  a  duty. 
Yet  we  were  called  upon  to  pay  her  bills,  because  she 
dared  not  ask  Caroline  for  money,  and  she  had  no  claim 
upon  any  one.  I  gave  her  ten  pounds  the  morning  she 
left  us,  and  she  took  it  quite  as  her  right,  as  part  of  aunt 
Sarah's  allowance  ;  and  when  I  told  her  plainly  that  aunt 
Sarah  only  paid  the  rent  of  the  house,  and  therefore  it 
came  rather  heavily  upon  us  to  give  her  such  assistance, 
she  was  angry,  and  said,  we  ought  to  consider  that,  at  least, 
we  were  not  called  upon  to  keep  her  when  she  was  absent. 

But  she  went  away,  and  I  was  obliged  to  put  aside 
the  thought  of  what  would  be  the  end. 

I  could  not  ask  aunt  Sarah  what  she  would  advise  us 
to  do.  Weakness  and  pain  were  doing  their  errand 
stealthily,  but  surely.  I  never  missed  a  day  in  seeing 
her ;  but  our  words  diminished  as  our  love  and  our 
prayers  increased.  Her  doctor  said  it  was  a  state  in 
which  she  might  linger  for  many  weeks, — there  was  no 
actual  disease,  but  a  general  breaking  up  of  the  system. 
Humanly  speaking,  she  could  never  rally  to  be  what  she 
had  been.  Sometimes  I  tried  to  realize  what  the  words 
meant ;  but  I  shrank  from  the  self-inflicted  pain,  and  only 
clung  the  more  closely  to  the  thought  that  she  was  still 
with  me. 

A  peal  of  bells  from  the  old  church  at  Carsdale  an- 
nounced  the  return  of  Mr.    Ralph    Mortimer   and  his 
bride.     They  passed  through  the  town  gaily  as  they  had 
14* 


322  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFR 

left  it,  and  I  heard  that  the  schoolipistress  and  the  vil 
lage  children  at  Hurst  went  out  to  meet  them  with  flow- 
ers and  rejoicing.  They  were  right, — to  them  Horatia 
was  a  friend,  and  my  uncle  an  important  and  influential 
benefactor. 

I. .was  to  go  to  East  Side  myself  the  next  day,  and 
my  mother  said  that  Hester  should  go  with  me.  It  was 
a  Saturday  and  a  holiday  ;  we  could  both  be  spared,  and 
she  thought  we  should  support  each  other.  Hester  was  a 
great  deal  more  upset  than  I  was.  She  was  less  accus- 
tomed to  the  change  of  life,  and  her  heart  still  turned 
fondly  to  the  recollections  of  her  happy  childhood.  I 
would  fain  have  saved  her  the  pain,  but  I  felt  that  it  was 
better  to  have  it  over  at  once.  But  to  drive  up  to  the 
house  formally, — to  ask  if  Mrs.  Ralph  Mortimer  -vfas  at 
home, — to  be  ushered  by  a  footman  in  livery,  through  the 
entrance  hall,  with  the  chairs  standing  in  it  which  I  used 
to  sit  down  upon  when  we  were  waiting  for  the  pony-car- 
riage, and  the  stand  on  which  my  father's  hat  used  to 
hang,  still  in  the  same  position,  and  then  to  have  the 
drawing-room  door  opened,  and  one's  name  announced, 
even  as  a  stranger  who  had  no  right  to  be  there, — these 
things  are  not  great  trials, — every  one,  perhaps,  has  to 
bear  them,  in  some  form  or  other,  at  some  time  or  other, — 
but  they  are  most  bitter,  all  the  more  so,  perhaps,  because 
they  are  so  common  that  one  is  ashamed  to  confess  the 
sufi"ering  they  bring. 

The  drawing-room,  I  was  thankful  to  see,  was  consid- 
erably altered.  Horatia  and  we  had  always  difi'ered  as  to 
the  taste  and  arrangement  of  furniture,  and  she  had  ex- 
ercised her  own  fancy  in  discarding  much  which  had 
belonged  to  us,  and  placing  the  diff"erent  articles  in  new 
positions.  What  with  the  addition  of  a  chaise  longjce  and 
an  ottoman,  and  the  removal  of  a  bookcase  and  some  pic- 
tures, I  was  able  almost  to  fancy  myself  in  a  new  rOom, 
and  certainly  the  splendidly  dressed,  showy  woman  who 
occupied  one  end  of  the  sofa,  and  commanded  her  guests 
with  a  glance,  and  whose  voice  sounded  loudest  and  fullest 
amongst  the  murmurs  and  congratulations  of  a  crowded 
apartment,  was  as  unlike  my  meek  and  gentle,  mother,  as 
the  inhabitants  of  two  distinct  worlds  could  be. 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  323 

Horatia  came  forward  to  meet  us  with  an  air  of  de- 
lighted patronage.  *  She  had  half  hoped,  she  said,  that  we 
might  have  been  there  to  receive  them  the  night  before^ 
when  they  arrived.  "  It  is  such  a  pleasure  to  be  welcomed 
to  a  home,  is  it  not  ?  "  she  added,  addressing  one  of  her 
visitors ;  "  and  Ralph  will  be  sorry  not  to  have  seen  you," 
she  continued,  to  me,  "but  he  could  not  possibly  stay. 
However,  we  must  make  some  engagements  presently. 
And  now  tell  me  a  little  about  your  poor  mother  and  our 
dear  aunt  Sarah.  I  have  been  most  dreadfully  anxious 
about  her."  I  gave  as  short  an  answer  as  I  could,  con- 
sistent with  civility,  and  tried  to  talk  to  some  one  else  ; 
but  I  was  not  to  escape.  A  conversation  about  the  alter- 
ations, which  had  been  begun  before  we  entered,  was  now 
resumed,  and  Hester  and  I  were  appealed  to  at  once  by 
Horatia.  "  In  your  days,  Sarah,  it  was  different.  You 
never  had  a  tree  cut.  I  believe  it  was  your  mother's 
fancy."  '•  It  was  my  father'*  wish,  but  I  could  not  bring 
myself  to  mention  his  name ;  so  I  merely  said,  "  The 
place  was  a  little  overgrown."  "  Oh !  sadly  !  you  were 
such  people  for  shade  and  privacy.  As  to  the  moss-house, 
it  is  a  mere  cave  ;  but  how  fond  your  poor  father  was  of 
it ! "  "  Lady  Emily  Rivers  and  Mr.  Beresford " — an- 
nounced the  footman.  I  could  have  given  them  public 
thanks  upon  the  spot  for  the  interruption,  but  I  was  not 
allowed  to  say  even  that  I  was  glad  to  see  them.  .Ho- 
ratia took  possession  of  them  with  such  a  rush  of  words 
and  rustling  of  her  silk  dress,  that  poor  Lady  Emily  was 
glad  to  sit  down  in  the  first  vacant  seat,  where  she  might 
be  quiet,  and  not  be  obliged  to  make  herself  the  principal 
object  in  the  room.  Mr.  Beresford  withdrew  into  the 
background,  after  his  first  bow,  and  when,  after  watching 
the  little  scene  at  Lady  Emily's  entrance,  I  looked  round 
for  him,  I  observed  him  setting  apart  and  watching 
Hester,  with  a  countenance  upon  which  some  great  dis- 
quietude of  mind  was,  to  my  eyes,  legibly  written.  Hes- 
ter was  trying  to  make  herself  agreeable  to  the  lady  who 
was  next  her,  but  tears  often  gathered  in  her  eyes,  even 
when  she  tried  to  speak  smilingly  .  and  I  thought,  at  last, 
that  we  had  endured  the  penance  sufficiently  long,  and 
therefore  proposed  to  Mrs.  Blair,  who  had  come  with  us, 


324  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

that  we  should  return.  The  room  was,  however,  by  thig 
time,  much  thinned ;  and  Horatia  feeling  herself,  as  she 
declared,  quite  amongst  friends,  insisted  upon  our  staying 
to  luncheon.  Lady  Emily  was  pressed  also,  and  consent- 
ed ;  and  I  appreciated  what  I  was  sure  was  the  motive. 

We  went  in  to  luncheon.  Horatio  had  evidently 
determined  beforehand  that  some  of  her  guests  should  be 
entertained  on  the  occasion,  for  the  preparations  were 
large.  It  had  all  been  provided,  she  said,  for  chance  vis- 
itors, and  she  did  the  honours  of  the  table  with  great  hos- 
pitality ;  and  Hester  and  I  used  the  knives  and  forks 
which  had  been  our  own,  and  had  the  dishes  and  plates 
put  before  us  which  we  had  always  been  accustomed  to 
on  what  were  called  state  occasions  ;  and,  as  Horatia  con- 
siderately remarked,  it  was  quite  home-like  with  such  a 
snug  party.  Hester's  head  was  bent  down  lower  than 
ever  at  this  speech,  and  I  saw  a  tear  drop  from  her  eye. 
I  was  extremely  distressed,  and  yet  afraid  to  take  any 
notice  lest  I  might  make  matters  worse ;  but  at  length  I 
asked  her  if  she  would  go  into  the  drawing-room,  and 
fetch  a  little  bottle  of  eau  de  Cologne,  which  I  had  left 
there ;  and  taking  advantage  of  the  excuse  she  went 
away,  and  did  not  return  again.  Notwithstanding  Hora- 
tia's  home-like  feelings,  we  were  all  remarkably  dull.  Mr. 
Beresford,  in  particular,  was  excessively  moody ;  he  ate 
nothing,  and  often  glanced  impatiently  at  the  door,  as  if 
longing  to  be  away.  A  ring  at  the  bell  announced 
another  visitor  before  luncheon  was  ended,  but  it  was  only 
Mr.  Malcolm ;  and  Horatia,  who  always  piqued  herself 
upon  being  on  free  and  cordial  terms  with  the  clergy  of 
the  neighbourhood,  begged  that  he  would  come  into  the 
dining-room.  The  offer,  however,  was  declined  ;  but  Mr. 
Malcolm  was  in  no  hurry,  we  were  told,  and  begged  that 
Mrs.  Mortimer  would  not  disturb  herself.  We  waited 
whilst  Mrs.  Blair  finished  her  cake,  and  then  returned  to 
the  drawing-room.  Horatia  kept  Lady  Emily  and  Mrs. 
Blair  behind  for  a  minute  to  look  at  some  picture  which 
was  a  new  purchase,  and  it  so  happened  that  Mr.  Beres- 
ford and  I  went  into  the  room  alone.  The  first  thing 
which  struck  us  both,  was  the  sight  of  Hester  in  earnest 
conversation  with  Mr.  Malcolm,  and  -the  first  words  we 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE.  620 

heard  were  spoken  by  her,  "  And  you  don't  really  think 
it  is  wrong  to  have  such  feelings  ?  "  I  saw  Mr.  Beres- 
ford's  face  in  a  glass  opposite  to  us,  and  its  expression  of 
anger  and  jealousy  dismayed  me.  He  turned  from  me, 
and  rushed  out  of  the  room.  Hester  came  up  to  me 
yesterday,  simple,  true-hearted,  confiding,  as  she  had 
always  been:  "might  she  go  away?"  she  asked.  "She 
was  afraid  to  see  any  one ;  but  Mr.  Malcolm  had  been 
very  kind  ;  he  had  given  her  a  great  deal  of  comfort,  and 
he  did  not  think  her  very  wicked  ;"  and  then  she  held  out 
her  hand  to  him,  and  begged  him  always  to  talk  to  her 
in  the  same  way,  for  she  was  sure  it  would  do  her  more 
good  than  anything  else.  He  was  far  more  confused  than 
she  was,  and  said  to  me,  in  a  hurried  way,  that  he  hoped 
he  had  not  done  wrong  ;  only,  he  had  found  her  there  in 
distress,  and  it  seemed  natural  to  say  he  could  understand 
it  all,  for  indeed  he  could.  I  thanked  him,  and  begged 
him  to  be  her  friend  always ;  and  I  am  sure  at  the  mo- 
ment I  said  it  without  the  least  thought  that  he.  could 
ever  be  anything  else  ;  and  then  Lady  Emily,  and  Hora- 
tia,  and  Mrs.  Blair,  came  in,  and  we  were  all  on  the  point 
of  departure. 

But  Mr.  Beresford  was  not  to  be  found ; — in  the  gar- 
den, the  shrubbery,  the  stables,  the  fields,  the  village  ; — 
everywhere  he  was  sought  for,  but  in  vain.  I  dared  not 
say  how  much  I  knew  or  guessed  of  the  cause  of  his 
absence.  He  had  been  with  me,  and  had  left  me,  that 
was  all  I  could  answer  for ;  and  at  last  we  were  told  that 
he  had  been  seen  walking  very  fast  on  the  road  to  Cars- 
dale.  My  heart  sank  within  me.  I  looked  about  for 
some  one  to  advise  me — some  one  to  whom  I  could  tell  the 
fears  which  had  taken  possession  of  me  ;  but  there  was 
no  one.  They  were  all  quiet,  unconcerned,  unsuspicious. 
Lady  Emily  apologising  for  her  brother's  freaks  ;  even 
Hester,  looking  bright  again,  as  she  said,  "  It  was  just 
like  one  of  his  wild  fancies  ;  he  was  always  saying  that  it 
was  a  useless  waste  of  time  to  form  plans  beforehand ;" 
and  Horatia,  joining  in  the  laugh,  and  talking  of  his 
character  in  the  natural  style  belonging  to  "  one  of  the 
family."  Mr.  Malcolm  alone  saw  I  was  grieved,  and 
thought  I  was  yielding  to  the  old  painful  reminiscences, 


326  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE,     . 

and  he  did  his  best  to  hurry  the  carriage  and  get  ufi 
away.  But  I  was  not  at  East  Side  then — in  thought  or 
feeling;  I  had  forgotten  .all  personal  pain,  or  dislike,  or 
regret.  I  could  only  remember  that  look  of  intense 
anger  and  pique,  and  think  of  what  it  might  portend. 

All  the  time  we  were  driving  into  Carsdale  I  was  pon- 
dering upon  Mr.  Beresford's  object  in  going  there.  Sirs. 
Blair  and  Hester  talked,  and  I  believe  I  answered  them, 
but  if  I  did,  it  was  mechanically.  I  was  possessed  by 
one  idea, — that  Mr.  Beresford  was  really  false  to  Sophia 
Grant,  and  would  see  Hester  again,  and  betray  himself, 
and  what  would  be  the  result  ?  Did  she  love  him  now  ? 
Would  she  have  strength  of  mind  to  reject  him  ?  If  she 
listened  to  him,  what  would  be  the  consequence  ?  The 
anticipation  of  all  tliat  might  happen  wa§  alarming  to 
me — most  especially  the  dread  lest  the  perfect  simplicity 
of  heart  of  my  sweet  child  should  be  disturbed  by  the 
tumult  of  an  affection  to  which  she  had  no  right.  I  am 
afaid  I  was  unjust  to  Mr.  Beresford  ; — unkind  to  Sophia- 
Calm  and  unexcitable  on  such  subjects  myself,  I  could 
think  only  of  guarding  my  treasure  from  harm,  and  I 
dwelt  but  little  upon  the  agony  which  others  might  be 
called  upon  to  bear.  Neither  did  I  then  feel  what  at 
another  time  would  have  been  one  of  the  first  ideas  pren- 
ent  to  me  ; — that  Mr.  Beresford's  family  would  have  just 
reason  to  complain,  and  that  even  Lady  Emily  herself, 
sincere  and  long-tried  as  her  affection  for  me  and  for  Hes- 
ter undoubtedly  was,  might  well  object  to  a  connection 
which,  even  in  the  days  of  our  prosperity,  could  not  have 
been  such  as  her  brother  was  by  birth  and  fortune  enti- 
tled to  form. 

As  we  entered  Carsdale,  I  scanned  every  face  and 
figure  in  the  dread  of  seeing  Mr.  Beresford.  I  half  hoped 
that,  in  his  excited  state,  he  might  have  taken  a  sudden 
resolution  to  leave  the  place ;  but  it  was  not  like  him, — 
he  would  not  yield  his  place  to  another  without  a  strug- 
gle ;  he  would  see  Hester  ;  I  was  convinced  of  that,  upon 
consideration ;  and  the  only  question  was,  how  to  avoid 
the  interview.  Mrs.  Blair  wanted  Hester  to  remain  with 
her  for  an  hour  or  two,  but  I  dared  not  trust  her  there ; 
and  making  some  trifling  excuse,  hurried  to  aunt  Sarah's. 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  32? 

vrhere  I  had  an  idea  of  leaving  her  whilst  I  went  home 
to  consult  my  mother.  Mr.  Beresford  was  not  likely  to 
intrude  into  aunt  Sarah's  house,  and  Hester  would  not  go 
out  alone.  Afterwards  I  could  not  tell  what  was  to  be 
done.  I  thought  of  sending  her  away, — making  Herbert 
take  her  away ;  but  there  was  no  place  to  which  she  could 
go,  and,  certainly,  none  where  she  could  be  safe,  if  Mr. 
Beresford  chose  to  follow.  Then  I  thought  of  seeing 
Lady  Emily,  and  telling  her  what  I  feared  ;  but  it  was  all 
conjecture  on  my  part ;  and  how  could  I  go  to  her  with 
what,  after  all,  might  be  an  unfounded  suspicion  ?  Oh  ! 
how  I  longed  that  Hester  could  be  safe  under  any  other 
protection  !  If  Mr.  Malcolm  had  only  seen  her  with  my 
eyes,  and  known  her  gentleness  and  humility,  and  perfect 
truth  and  warmth  of  affection,  he  must  have  loved  her, 
and  I  could  have  trusted  her  to  him  .with  entire  confi- 
dence. 

Even  my  dear  mother,  who  never  spoke  upon  such  sub- 
jects, had  once  said  to  me  that  he  was  just  the  person  she 
should  like  for  a  son-in-law.  But  it  was  useless  to  think 
of  that  now. 

We  stopped  at  aunt  Sarah's  and  dismissed  the  fly^  and 
I  told  Hester  that  I  wished  her  to  remain  there  till  I 
could  come  back  for  her,  and  that  she  might  amuse  aunt 
Sarah  with  the  account  of  her  visit ;  and  then  I  sent  for 
Miss  Cole,  and  begged  her  to  go  and  take  a  little  walk, 
and  leave  Hester  to  be  with  my  aunt,  and  said  to  myself 
that  I  had  managed  very  cleverly.  It  struck  me  when  I 
was  half-way  down  the  street,  that  probably  Mr.  Malcolm 
would  call  to  see  aunt  Sarah  on  his  way  back  from  East 
Side,  as  he  usually  did  see  her  every  day.  *ut  I  did  not 
know  why  I  should  trouble  myself  about  that,  I  was  re 
ally  becoming  quite  silly  and  romantic  in  my  sober  age.- 
fancying  that  every  one  was  going  to  fall  in  love  with 
Hester;  and  I  quite  scolded  myself  for  allowing  such 
thoughts  to  haunt  me,  when  Mr.  Malcolm's  heart  was  so 
evidently  indifferent.  I  said  so  to  myself  one  moment, 
and  the  next  I  found  myself  recalling  his  hurried  man- 
ner,— the  kind  interest  he  had  taken  in  her.  It  was  pos- 
Bible  the  indifference  was  feigned.  I  walked  leisurely 
through  the  streets,  satisfied,  at  all  events,  in  the  convio 


328  THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE. 

tion  that  I  had  left  Hester  in  safe  custody,  and  looking 
about  still  for  Mr.  Beresford.  and  thinking  what  I  should 
say  to  my  mother ;  and  actually  passed  our  own  door  be- 
fore I  was  aware.  But  I  was  stopped  by  hearing  some 
one  say,  "Are  you  going  farther,  Miss  Mortimer?"  It 
was  Mr.  Malcolm,  on  horseback.  His  face  was  so  very 
pale,  I  really  doubted  for  the  moment  who  he  was.  I 
laughed  at  my  mistake,  and  he  dismounted,  and,  calling 
to  a  boy  to  hold  his  horse,  came  up  to  me,  and  said,  in  a 
voice  scarcely  articulate  from  agitation :  "  Might  I  be  al- 
lowed a  few  minutes'  conversation  with  you  ?"  I  led  the 
way  into  the  house,  but  he  waited  to  speak  to  the  boy  ; 
and  as  I  looked  back  to  see  what  detained  him,  I  observ- 
ed, at  the  further  end  of  the  street,  a  person  crossing  the 
road,  whom  I  directly  recognised  as  Mr.  Beresford.  I 
think  he  must  have  seen  us,  for  he  stopped  for  an  instant, 
and  then  strode  on.  He  went  towards  High-street.  Aunt 
Sarah's  house  was  in  High-street ;  but  how  could  he  guess 
that  Hester  was  there  ? 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

Mr.  Malcolm  followed  me  into  the  drawing-room:  we 
sat  down  opposite  to  each  other.  He  waited  for  me  to 
speak,  and  I  said,  in  order  to  do  away  with  the  awkward- 
ness, that  he  had  ridden  fast  after  us.  Yes,  very  fast,  as 
fast  as  he  could  come  ;  not — and  his  voice  trembled — as 
fast  as  he  could  wish.  A  gleam  of  hope  came  over  me ; 
I  pitied  him  oertainly,  yet  I  could  not  think  of  a  f^ord  to 
say  to  help  him.  The  colour  in  his  face  went  and  came  rap- 
idly :  there  was  a  moment's  pause  of  excessive  embarrass- 
ment on  both  sides,  and  then,  as  with  a  sudden  impulse  of 
moral  strength,  came  the  question,  which,  after  such  prepara- 
tion, I  could  scarcely  fail  to  anticipate,  put  abruptly,  but 
with  an  honest  openness  which  became  him.  He  loved  Hes- 
ter devotedly ;  did  I  think — could  I  give  him  the  faintest 
hope — that  she  would  return  his  affection?  He  buried 
his  face  in  his  hands,  shrinking  from  the  answer.  How 
thankful  I  was  words  can  never  say.     I  could  not  tell  him 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  329 

tliere  was  no  hope ;  I  could  give  him  my  cordial  good 
wishes ;  and,  as  I  said  the  words,  he  seized  my  hand  with 
expressions  of  overpowering  gratitude,  and  the  whole  his- 
tory of  his  fears  came  out.  He  had  seen  what  I  saw  at 
East  Side,  and  alarm — ^jealousy,  he  called  it — had  goaded 
him  to  do  what  he  never  meant  to  do,  until  he  could  come 
forward  to  offer  what  Hester  deserved,  and  we  were  bound 
to  require — a  home  and  a  competency.  Within  the  last 
week  he  had  had  the  half-promise  of  a  living ;  it  was  all 
but  sure,  but  it  was  not  quite,  and  he  had  therefore  still 
thought  that  it  might  be  his  duty  to  delay ;  as  he  had 
from  the  beginning  dreaded  to  disturb  the  peace  of  her 
present  life,  and  shackle  her  by  a  long  engagement.  Now, 
however,  he  felt  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  continue 
his  present  manner,  and  he  had  therefore  come  to  me. 
Perhaps  I  could  understand  that  it  was  more  easy  to  talk 
to  me  than  to  make  a  formal  proposal  to  my  mother,  know- 
ing that  he  had  nothing  but  hope  to  offer.  His  request 
was,  that  I  would  gain  my  mother's  sanction  to  his  en- 
deavours to  win  Hester's  affections. 

I  would  have  taken  him  at  once  to  my  mother,  but 
he  stopped  me ;  a  cloud  came  over  his  face,  and  he  said 
he  must  ask  one  question  more, — the  answer  might  be 
agony,  but  he  must  hear  it.  I  had  only  said  that  I  could 
not  tell  him  there  was  no  hope; — did  that  mean  there 
was  any  fear  of  a  previous  affection  ?     Was  it  possible 

that "Mr.  Beresford's  feeling  is  returned,"  I  said, 

forcing  myself  to  be  unreserved,  though  with  a  great 
struggle.  Yes,  that  was  what  he  meant,  "  Mr.  Beres- 
ford  has  long  been  considered  engaged,"  I  said.  "  True," 
he  replied,  whilst  the  cloud  still  rested  on  his  face  ;  "  but 
it  sometimes  happens,  in  such  cases,  that  persons,  after  a 
time,  find  themselves  unsuited  to  each  other,  and  that 
others  are  aware  of  it.  Mr.  Beresford  has  never,  I  be- 
lieve, been  definitely  engaged ;  and  your  sister  has  lately 
been  much  at  Lowood."  "  Not  whilst  he  was  there,"  1 
replied.  Mr.  Malcolm  smiled.  "  Perhaps  I  am  not  a  fair 
judge,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  should,  say,  that,  even  with  a 
comparatively  slight  acquaintance,  some  excuse  might  be 
found  for  him ;  and  your  sister  may  have  perceived  his 
attachment.     It  might  be  so  without  any  intentional  fault 


330  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

on  her  part."  I  felt  he  might  be  right ;  at  the  bottom  of 
my  heart  I  had  an  acliing  dread  that  he  was.  It  was  the 
secret  misgiving  which  had  made  me  tremble,  lest  Mr. 
Beresford  should  have  the  opportunity  of  disclosing  his 
feelings,  and  discovering  to  Hester  the  state  of  hers. 

^'  They  would  be  sadly,  miserably  wrong,"  I  said ; 
'•  may  God  save  my  darling  from  such  a  temptation ! " 
And  a  host  of  recollections,  bringing  self-reproach,  flashed 
upon  me,  as  I  felt  that,  if  it  were  so,  I  might  be  the  per- 
son to  blame,  in  having  shut  my  eyes  to  a  possibility,  and 
trusted  to  a  man  whose  principles  I  had,  from  the  very 
first,  felt  to  be  insecure. 

What  I  now  most  earnestly  desired  was,  that  Mr. 
Malcolm  should  see  Hester  at  once,  but  he  was  afraid. 
His  manner,  he  said,  had  always  been  so  cold,  he  had  so 
studiously  avoided  anything  that  might  be  construed  into 
an  attention,  that  he  trembled  for  the  result  of  a  sudden 
explanation.  All  he  wished  was  to  be  at  liberty  to  show 
what  his  wishes  were, — to  win  her  affections,  if  he  could, 
fairly  and  openly.  He  looked  very  unhappy,  and  I  read 
the  doubt  which  remained  in  his  mind;  but  he  had  marked 
out  for  himself  the  line  that  he  would  be  right  to  pursue, 
and  I  felt  that,  at  any  sacrifice,  he  would  follow  it. 

He  had  an  interview  with  my  mother  afterwards ;  it 
was  what  I  was  sure  it  would  be.  Every  word  he  uttered 
gave  us  a  deeper  insight  into  his  strength  of  mind,  his 
lionourable,  candid,  upright  character.  We  could  wish 
lor  nothing  better, — ^nothing  more  likely  to  make  Hester 
happy.  But  all  the  time  we  were  talking  my  thoughts 
were  wandering.  What  was  Mr.  Beresford  doing  m 
High-street? 

I  was  to  go  and  fetch  Hester.  Mr.  Malcolm  was  to 
return  and  drink  tea.  I  did  not  think  it  worth  while 
then  to  disturb  my  mother  with  the  fears  I  had  been  con- 
juring up.  For  one  night  she  should  at  least  enjoy  the 
prospect  of  that  bright  future  for  her  child  which  had 
once  been  her  own.  But  I  was  not  at  rest ;  there  was 
the  same  fear  hanging  over  my  heart, — the  same  doubt 
whether  Hester  might  not  be  safer  and  better  away.  But 
then,  again,  if  Mr.  Malcolm  was  with  her  constantly,  show- 
ing her  what  now  he  was  at  full  liberty  to  show, — his  real 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  331 

affection, — it  might  fairly  be  hoped  that  her  own  feelings, 
already  those  of  deep  respect,  would  partake  of  the  nature 
of  his.  All  that  seemed  required  was,  that  the  ground 
should  not  be  preoccupied. 

It  was  growing  dusk  when  I  reached  aunt  Sarah's 
door.  I  thought  it  probable  she  might  be  asleep,  so  I 
stole  into  the  house,  making  as  little  noise  as  possible, 
and  went  first  through  the  long  passage  towards  the 
kitchen,  to  find  one  of  the  servants,  and  ask  whether  I 
had  better  go  up  stairs.  If  aunt  Sarah  was  asleep,  how- 
ever, the  servants  were  doing  their  best  to  waken  her,  for 
Richard,  the  old  gardener,  was  hammering  nails  into  a 
box,  and  the  sound  was  heard  all  over  the  house.  Molly' 
and  Betty  were,  I  supposed,  as  usual,  hidden  in  the  re- 
cesses of  the  laundry,  far  beyond  mortal  ken,  or,  at  least, 
such  ken  as  mine ;  and  old  Richard  was  so  deafened  by 
the  sound  of  his  own  hammer,  that  he  did  not  know  I  was 
near  him  till  I  touched  his  arm,  and  then  he  looked  very 
cross  at  being  interrupted,  and  said,  he  supposed  they 
were  all  upstairs  with  "  Missus."  Miss  Cole  had  been  in 
the  kitchen  a  few  minutes  before,  and  Miss  Hester,  he  be- 
lieved, was  talking  to  some  one  in  the  parlour.  Some 
one  !  The  old  man  must  have  thought  me  mad.  I  did 
not  wait  to  hear  another  word,  but  rushed  back  along  the 
passage,  and  had  just  laid  my  fingers  upon  the  handle  of 
the  dining-room  door,  when  Miss  Cole  came  down  the 
stairs.  Dear,  kind  Miss  Cole !  with  her  slow  speech — 
oh !  how  interminably  slow  at  that  instant  ! — informed 
me  that  she  was  very  glad  I  was  come,  for  there  was  a 
message  for  me,  she  believed,  from  Lady  Emily  Rivers. 
She  had  met  Mr.  Beresford,  close  to  Long's  shop,  and  he 
had  asked  where  I  was  to  be  found,  and  she  had  told  him 
that  I  was  gone  home,  and  that  Hester  was  at  her  aunt's ; 
and  then  he  had  asked  if  he  might  say  five  words  to  Hes- 
ter, for  he  was  just  going  back  to  Lowood.  ''  So,  of 
course,"  continued  innocent  Miss  Cole,  "  I  was  quite  glad 
to  have  met  him.  I  was  afraid  he  was  ill,  for  he  looked 
dreadfully  white,  and  his  manner  was  flurried ;  but  he 
said  there  was  nothing  the  matter  with  Lady  Emily,  and 
I  did  not  like  to  ask  for  Miss  Grant." 

"  I  asked  how  long  he  had  been  there  ?  "     '•  About  ten 


332  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE, 

minutes ;  it  might  be  a  little  more.  Probably  he  is  wait 
ing  to  see  you,"  added  Miss  Cole, "  as  I  told  him  you  would 
be  here  again  soon." 

Alas,  for  the  mischief  that  might  be  done  in  those  ten 
minutes  !  but  I  let  Miss  Cole  go  up  stairs  again,  and  wait- 
ed till  she  was  out  of  sight,  and  I  had  heard  her  go  into 
aunt  Sarah's  bedroom,  and  then  with  a  feeling  of  despe- 
rate calmness,  I  once  more  touched  the  handle  of  the  door. 
It  was  turned  on  the  other  side ;  the  door  was  thrown 
open,  and  when  I  drew  back,  Mr.  Beresford  rushed  wildly 
past  me,  and  left  the  house. 

I  went  in.  My  darling  was  leaning  back  upon  the 
sofa,  burying  her  face  amongst  the  cushions,  and  sobbing 
as  if  her  heart  would  break.  I  spoke  to  her.  but  she 
would  not  reply  till  I  sat  down  by  her,  and  forcing  her  to 
turn  to  me,  bade  her  tell  me  what  was  amiss,  that  I  might 
comfort  her.  She  looked  up  then,  and  her  eye  glanced 
rapidly  round  the  room,  and  in  a  hollow  whisper  she  said, 
"  Is  he  gone  ?  Mammy,  dear,  are  you  sure  7 "  "  Yes  ;  we 
are  alone.  But  Hester,  my  treasure,  my  own  child,  what 
has  he  said  ?  "  She  started  from  her  seat,  threw  herself 
on  her  knees  before  me,  and  exclaimed,  "  It  was  not  my 
doing : — God  knows  it.  Oh  !  Sarah,  are  they  all  as  wick- 
ed ? "  "  AH?— all  men,  do  you  mean  ? "  "  Yes,  all.  Are. 
they  like  him? — will  they  deceive? — will  they  tempt? 
Save  me  from  him,  Sarah ;  don't  let  me  listen  to  him." 
•'  You  shall  never  see  him  again,  my  darling,"  I  said,  "  if 
I  can  help  it :  but  you  do  not  wish  to  do  so,  do  you  ? " 
My  heart  grew  sick  with  fear  as  I  asked  the  question  ; 
but  she  raised  her  bright,  pure  face  to  mine,  and  clasped 
her  hands  together,  and  solemnly  and  earnestly  she  said, 
"  Never — never  !  "  The  next  minute  there  was  a  burst 
of  agonizing  repentance,  and  she  kid  her  face  in  my  lap, 
and  murmured,  "  But  it  pleased  me  to  hear  him  say  he 
loved  me." 

"  Poor  child !  She  was  frail  and  weak,  and  he  had 
touched  her  vanity.  I  saw  the  truth  in  an  instant,  through 
the  bitter  tears,  the  anguish  of  self-reproach.  I  saw  that 
she  was  distressing  herself  unnecessarily,  dreading  lest  she 
^Jiad  in  heart  consented  to  feelings  which  in  truth  she  ab- 
horred.    Again  and  again  she  asked, — were  all  men  so 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  333 

wiwKed  ? — would  they  all  deceive  ? — should  she  ever  be 
treated  herself  as  he  had  treated  Sophia  ?  and  then  once 
more  came  the  sorrow,  the  penitent  confession,  the  en- 
treaty that  I  would  not  hate  her;  but  she  had  liked  to 
hear  him  say  he  loved  her.  Oh!  how'lL  hated  him !  at 
the  moment  it  was  actual  hatred, — a  feeling  so  strong,  that 
when  I  look  back  upon  it  it  frightens  me,  |or  it  was  sin. 
She  became  more  composed  after  a  little  time,  and  gave 
me  the  details  of  what  had  passed,  though  still  in  broken 
sentences,  and  interrupted  by  entreaties  that  I  would  not 
cast  her  off,  btit  help  her  to'  forget  that  she  had  ever 
heard  the  words  which  haunted  her.  He  had  told  her 
that  Sophia  was  cold  to  him,  and  did  not  love  him,  and 
that  he  could  not  be  happy  without  affection ;  and  then 
he  made  the  poor  child  confess  that  she  had  no  feeling  for 
any  other  person,  and  taking  advantage  of  her  simple  ac- 
knowledgment,— that  she  had  never  thought  about  such 
things  before, — pressed  his  own  love,  he  called  it, — selfish- 
ness, I  called  it.  "  He  wanted  me  to  say  I  would  try  to 
love  him,"  she  added  ;  "  but  I  could  not.  Oh  !  mammy, 
dear,  when  I  thought  of  Sophia,  and  of  my  mother,  and 
of  you,  I  could  not  say  so.  Yet  I  liked  his  talking, — in- 
deed, I  did.  You  will  think  me  as  wicked  as  I  am,  won't 
you  ?  But  I  told  him  he  must  go  back  to  Sophia,  and 
that  he  must  never  repeat  such  things  to  me  again  ^  and 
I  said  how  wrong  he  was  to  think  Sophia  did  not  care  for 
him ;  and  that  she  thought  about  him  all  day  long,  and 
that  she  was  s(f  good  he  must  be  happy  with  her.  I  don't 
think,  I  said  anything  I  ought  not :  but  I  felt  wrong 
things  I  am  sure.  Only,  at  last,  I  was  angry,  because  he 
declared  I  had  deceived  him,  and  behaved  to  him  as  if  I 
cared  for  him.  He  had  no  right  to  say  so,  Sarah,"  and 
Hester  drew  herself  up,  and  her  womanly  dignity,  for  the 
moment,  got  the  better  of  her  grief.  "  How  could  I  care 
for  him  when  I  considered  him  engaged.  He  was  kind  to 
me,  and  Sophia  loved  him  ;  that  was  why  I  liked  him,  and 
I  t^d  him  so,  and  then  he  was  quite  silent  and  cold ;  and, 
at  last,  he  rushed  away,  and,  I  think, — I  think,  Sarah,  I 
felt  sorry  when  he  left  me." 

The  intense  selfishness  of  some  men's  love  !  for  the 
moment  I  could  think  of  nothing  else. 


334  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

But  he  was  gone,  never,  I  hoped,  to  venture  a  second 
time  to  disturb  the  peace  of  my  darling's  mind ;  and  all 
that  could  now  be  done  for  her  was  to  take  her  home,  and 
leave  her  to  the  quiet  soothing  tenderness  of  my  mother's 
care.  She  could  not  see  Mr.  Malcolm  that  night ;  but 
though  I  was  sorry  for  what  would  be  his  disappointment, 
I  felt  that  if  Jie  should  in  the  end  succeed  in  his  wishes, 
he  would  obtain  a  prize,  the  value  of  which  till  that  day, 
even  I  had  never  estimated. 

Of  Sophia  Grant  I  dared  not  trust  myself  to  speak,— 
scarcely  to  think.  Mr.  Beresford  called .  her  cold ;  yes, 
she  was  cold,  compared  to  him, — cold  in  her  self-command, 
her  perfect  delicacy  of  feeling,  her  utter  unselfishness ! 
Cold,  because  to  humour  his  tastes  she  would  sacrifice  her 
own ;  to  save  him  pain,  she  would  endure.  She  was,  in 
my  eyes,  as  far  superior  to  him  as  the  calm  purity  of  an 
angel  is  to  the  excited  feeling  of  a  fallen  creature ;  but 
she  was  to  be  sacrificed, — to  be  cast  aside  :  the  happiness 
of  her  life  was  to  be  blighted,  and  the  excuse  was — love  ! 

Hester  was  very  unwell  for  several  days ;  she  was 
naturally  of  a  very  excitable  temperament,  and  the  agita- 
tion of  that  evening  did  not  cease  with  the  circumstance 
which  had  caused  it.  She  was  under  a  perpetual  nervous 
dread,  either  that  Mr.  Beresford  would  return,  or  that 
Ladv  Emily  would  call ;  and  this  latter  fear  was  increased 
by  the  self-reproach  which  no  reasoning  could  entirely  re- 
move. If  Mr.  Beresford  thought  she  had'  shown  by  hei 
manner  that  she  cared  for  him,  Lady  Eulily  would  have 
thought  the  same,  and  then  she  must  hate  and  despise  her. 
And  Sophia !  It  seemed  impossible  she  could  ever  be^ 
lieve  that  all  which  had  passed  was  unintentional ;  and 
this  doubt  would  be  followed  by  a  closer  self-examination 
into  her  own  feelings ;  whether  she  had  ever  encouraged 
Mr.  Beresford, — whether  it  had  not  once  or  twice  crossed 
her  mind  that  she  should  like  him  to  like  her ;  and  then, 
perhaps,  she  would  break  oflf,  and  say,  that  it  was  better 
not  to  think  so  much  of  herself,  it  was  Sophia  whom  she 
ought  to  care  about.  If  it  could  all  be  put  right  again 
with  her,  she  should  care  for  nothing  else. 

"  That  which  is  crooked  cannot  be  made  straight."  It 
was  a  truth  which  Mr.  Beresford  was  now  to  learn. 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF    MFE.  335 

I  saw  Lady  Emily  alone  the  following  day.  We  met 
by  appointment  at  aunt  Sarah's.  She  would  not  come  to 
us,  lest  her  presence  might  distress  Hester.  She  was 
looking  so  ill,  that  it  quite  shocked  me  to  see  her.  Of 
course  she  knew  all.  Whatever  might  be  Mr.  Beresford's 
faults,  he  was,  to  a  certain  extent,  candid.  He  had  never 
returned  to  Lowood ;  but  he  had  written  a  full  confession 
to  his  sister, — not,  however,  generous,  as  it  should  have 
been,  towards  Hester,  but  trying  to  offer  some  excuse  for 
himself  in  the  belief,  which  he  declared  he  entertained, 
that  Hester  was  attached  to  him.  "  But  the  whole  pro- 
ceeding," said  Lady  Emily,  "  was  the  result  of  wounded 
vanity  and  pique.  On  the  morning  that  we  met  at  East 
Side,  he  and  Sophia  had  had  some  slight  misunderstand- 
ing, and  he  complained  to  me  of  her  coldness.  I  confess 
that  I  had  just  begun  to  suspect  his  fancy  for  Hester, — 
fancy  I  call  it,  because  I  cannot  now  believe  that  his  real 
feeling  for  Sophia  is  changed  ;  and  I  spoke  to  him  seri- 
ously about  it,  and  said^that  it  was  quite  enough  to  make 
Sophia  cold.  He  was  angry,  and  accused  her  of  jealousy  ; 
and,  altogether,  we  had  a  most  uncomfortable  conversa- 
tion, and  I  began  to  be  afraid  I  had  done  more  harm  than 
good.  However,  I  persuaded  him  to  go  with  me  to  East 
Side,  hoping  that  he  would  recover  himself  before  he  saw 
Sophia  again :  and  it  was  in  that  state  that  Hester  and 
he  met.  It  is  the  only  extenuation  I  can  offer  for  his 
conduct.  He  had  worked  himself  up  to  the  belief  that 
Sophia  did  not  care  for  him,  and  he  believed,  he  says  him- 
self, that  Hester  did.  Then  came  the  feeling  of  jealousy 
of  your  friend  Mr.  Malcolm,  and,  in  a  fit  of  desperation, 
he  determined  to  make  his  fate  sure.  Hester's  conduct," 
she  added,  "  opened  his  eyes.  He  has  lived  too  much  in 
the  world,  and  is  not  sufl&ciently  simple-minded  to  under- 
stand her.  He  writes  with  the  irritation  of  a  man  who 
has  been  refused ;  but  if  it  can  be  any  consolation  to  you, 
he  is  utterly  miserable."  I  asked' what  Sophia  knew? 
"  Everything,"  replied  Lady  Emily.  "  As  regards  her,  he 
has  acted  as  humbly,  and  as  well  as  any  man  could  do 
who  has  committed  such  a  fatal  mistake.  But  he  has 
marred  her  happiness  for  life."  "  Yet  you  seem  to  say 
that  he  still  loves  her,"  I  said.     "  Possibly  that  in  time 


336  TH»  EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

they  maybe  friends  again?"     Lady   Emily  shook  her 
head.     "  If  it  were  Hester  it  might  be,  but  not  with  So* 

f)hia.  It  is  the  peculiarity  of  her  character.  Once  to 
ove,  is  to  love  for  ever.  Once  to  be  disappointed  in  that 
love,  is  to  be  disappointed  for  ever.  Her  respect  is  low- 
ered ;  and  without  entire  respect,  she  could  never  marry." 
"  Some  people,"  I  said,  "  might  find  an  excuse  in  the  im- 
pulse of  the  moment  after  a  misunderstanding."  "  But  I 
am  afraid  there  is  no  excuse  for  the  weakness  which  led 
to  such  a  result,"  said  Lady  Emily.  "  There  was  the  folly, 
— it  has  been  his  folly  always.  He  was  vain.  He  liked 
to  believe  that  he  could  make  his  way  with  any  woman  to 
whom  he  chose  to  devote  himself;  and  so,  without  serious 
meaning,  he  allowed  himself  to  say  silly  things,  and  pay 
attentions  which  were  likely  to  be  misunderstood.  Long 
before  his  attachment  to  Sophia,  I  warned  him  of  the  con- 
sequences, again  and  again  ;  afterwards,  I  hoped,  he  was 
safe ;  and,  as  regarded  Hester,  she  was  so  perfectly  child- 
like and  unconcerned  herself,  ai^  so  entirely  a  favourite 
with  them  both,  that  I  confess  I  never  opened  my  eyes  to 
the  danger  till  it  was  too  late.  How  bitterly  I  reproach 
myself  for  my  blindness  I  cannot  say.  My  only  comfort 
is,  that  I  have  not  been  the  means  of  bringing  them  to- 
gether lately."  It  was  a  miserable  affair.  If  it  was  not 
wickedness,  it  was  such  weakness,  that  I  quite  agreed 
with  Sophia,  it  could  never  be  forgotten ;  I  said  so  to 
Lady  Emily.  "  Yes,"  she  replied,  "  that  is  the  expression 
of  Sophia's  own  feelings.  If  he  loved  Hester,  she  says, 
he  was  false  to  her.  If  he  did  not,  he  deceived  the  poor 
child  with  delusive  words.  Either  way,  she  feels  that  he 
is  unworthy  of  her  affection.  Poor  fellow !  he  will  re- 
ceive to-morrow  a  letter  from  me  which  will  tell  him  what 
I  believe,  he  has  not  even  yet  ventured  to  realize, — that 
he  is  parted  from  Sophia  for  ever." 

He  was  bitterly  punished ;  but  I  thought  of  Hester 
and  Sophia,  and  again  I  said  to  myself,  "  Oh  !  the  selfish 
ness  of  some  men's  love  !  " 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  337 


CHAPTER  XL. 


The  comfort  of  turning  to  a  love  which  was  not  selfish 
was  excessive.  Mr.  Malcolm  was  with  us  daily,  but  he 
never  asked  to  see  Hester ;  and  when,  after  the  third 
evening,  she  came  down  stairs  of  her  own  accord,  and  said 
she  should  like  to  be  with  us,  he  would  not  distress  her 
with  attentions,  or  urge  her  into  conversation,  or  in  any 
way  make  his  presence  oppressive  to  her ;  but,  with  the 
thoughtfulness  of  a  brother,  he  talked  to  my  mother  and 
myself  of  the  subjects  likely  to  interest  her,  or  brought 
her  books  which  she  might  read  to  herself,  or  played  chess, 
or,  in  fact,  did  any  thing  which  opportunity  might  sug- 
gest, that  would  be  likely  to  distract  her  thoughts  and 
give  her  the  repose  of  mind  which  he  knew  she  required. 
For  I  had  told  him  all  that  had  passed,  and  I  could  see 
through  his  assumed  calmness  the  impetuous  disposition 
which  would  fain  have  gone  to  her  at  once,  and  entreated 
to  be  allowed  to  make  her  happy.  But  he  had  the  most 
perfect  self-command  of  any  person  I  ever  knew,  and  the 
most  entire  forgetfulness  of  self,  and  he  saw  what  I  saw, — 
chat  she  had  been  too  much  disturbed  as  yet  to  know  her 
own  mind,  and  that  to  confess  his  affection  would  only  be 
to  make  her  wretched.  She  had  admired  and  trusted 
Mr.  Beresford,  and  believed  him  perfect,  on  Sophia's  as- 
surance ;  and  now  that  she  was  undeceived,  her  faith  in 
all  men  was  shaken.  Even  Mr.  Malcolm,  I  could  per 
ceive,  was  at  times  distrusted.  She  used  to  say  to  me 
that  she  never  knew  before  what  persons  meant  by  saying 
that  they  could  not  put  confidence  in  men.  She  had  al- 
ways looked  up  to  them  so  much ;  many  of  those  she  had 
known  had  seemed  so  wise  and  good,  she  could  scarcely 
believe  they  were  not  so  now ;  and  it  seemed  at  times  as 
if  she  were  walking  in  a  horrible  dream ;  and  then  she 
had  had  such  wrong  feelings  herself,  and  sometimes  they 
came  back,  and  she  actually  loathed  herself.  She  wished 
Mr.  Malcolm  knew  how  wrong  she  was.  He  was  so  kind 
to  her,  and  always  put  right  thoughts  into  her  head.  Did 
1  think  it  possible  that  he  could  ever  be  like  Mr.  Beres 
ford  ? 

15 


338  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF    LIFE. 

Time  was  to  prove  that;  "but  time  just  then  went 
slowly  and  very  sadly.  I  could  soothe  Hester,  and  cheer 
my  mother ;  and  write  to  Lady  Emily,  and  give  hope  to 
Mr.  Malcolm;  while  deep,  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart, 
lay  the  aching  pain,  the  knowledge  of  a  coming  grief, 
which  no  one  on  earth  would  to  its  full  extent  share 
with  me. 

Who  could  fill  aunt  Sarah's  place  when  she  was  gone  ? 
And  she  was  going, — fast  it  was  said  ;  but  in  that  journey, 
upon  which  all  have  entered,  there  is  neither  fast  nor  slow, 
but  the  one  infinitely  rapid,  never  ceasing  progression, — 
swifter  than  light,  outspeeding  thought,  —  towards  the 
world  of  Eternity.  She  was  near  ;  we,  it  might  be,  were, 
as  yet,  far  from  it.  It  was  a  diflference  of  distance,  not 
of  speed. 

I  felt  very  much  drawn  towards  poor  Miss  Cole  at 
this  time.  I  was  learning  to  understand  other  person'tJ 
hearts — and  I  could  imagine  what  the  grief  to  her  must 
be ;  though  I  fancied  that  none  could  love  aunt  Sarah  as 
I  loved  her.  It  was  a  satisfaction  to  me  to  sit  in  the  twi- 
light, whilst  aunt  Sarah  dozed  in  her  arm-chair,  and  say 
a  few  words  of  comfort  to  the  friend  who  had  waited  upon 
her  for  so  many  years ;  and  I  began  then  to  estimate  the 
quiet,  untiring  patience  which  could  tend  the  infirmities 
of  age,  day  after  day,  with  no  thought  of  self,  but  with  the 
energy  of  unwearied  love.  One  comfort  I  had,  when  I 
thought  of  Miss  Cole,  that  aunt  Sarah  had,  in  some  de- 
gree, provided  for  her,  and  that  she  had  herself  been  able 
to  put  by  money.  She  was  not  to  be  left  to  battle  with 
the  world  now,  when  age  was  creeping  upon  her  also  ; — 
but  though  I  could  feel  thus  for  her,  she  did  not  then 
think  of  it  herself ;  she  could  only  say  to  me,  with  the 
tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks, — "  She  has  been  quite  my 
mother." 

I  made  Hester  attend  to  my  pupils  as  much  as  I  could 
at  that  time,  and  my  dear  mother  used  to  insist  upon 
helping  her.  Aunt  Sarah  required  so  much  attention, 
that  I  was  sure  Miss  Cole  would  be  worn  out,  if  some  one 
did  not  occasionally  relieve  her.  I  went  to  her  always' 
at  five  o'clock,  and  sometimes  earlier,  and  staid  till  eight, 
and  at  last  I  begged  to  be  allowed  to  sleep  in  the  house ; 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  *     339 

but  Miss  Cole  did  not  like  the  idea,  and  I  was  afraid  also 
it  might  worry  the  servants,  and  put  them  out  of  their 
way,  and  this  would  worry  aunt  Sarah  ;  for,  with  all  her 
determination,  she  was  now  a  little  under  the  control  of 
Molly  and  Betty,  and  old  Richard,  and  their  comfort  was 
a  first  consideration, 

I  still  occasionally  talked  to  my  aunt  as  in  the  old 
days,  and  I  told  her  of  Mr.  Malcolm's  attachment  to 
Hester ;  but  I  did  not  trouble  her  with  the  unfortunate 
history  of  Mr.  Beresford.  A  feeling  had  lately  come 
over  me,  whenever  I  was  with  her,  which  made  me  shrink 
from  distressing  her  by  the  account  of  any  thing  wrong. 
It  was  something  of  the  same  consideration  which  induces 
one  to  keep  the  knowledge  of  evil  from  a  child ;  only  in 
the  one  case  the  evil  has  never  been  known,  in  the  other 
it  had  been  known  and  forgotten.  For  aunt  Sarah  had 
few  thoughts  now  of  any  thing  belonging  exclusively  to 
this  world.*  She  would  sit  for  hours,  with  her  hands 
folded  one  over  the  other ;  and  her  eyes  shut,  not  sleep- 
ing, as  she  often  told  me,  but  with  peaceful  fancies,  some- 
thing between  dreams  and  realities,  soothing  her  like  the 
lulling  sound  of  falling  waters.  Mr.  Malcolm's  daily 
visits  formed  the  point  in  the  day  to  which  she  looked. 
Five  o'clock  was  the  hour  at  which  she  saw  him ;  and,  to 
me,  there  was  an  indescribable  tranquillity  in  passing 
from  the  business  of  the  school-room,  to  the  still  chamber 
from  whence  arose  the  solemn  tones  of  prayer,  or  the 
deep  thankfulness  of  the  Pslamist.  The  service  took  us 
far  away  from  this  world,  and  gave  us  the  support  we 
needed ;  for  we  all  knew  and  spoke  of  what  was  coming 
near.  "  I  would  rehearse  my  death-bed  daily,  Sally," 
said  my  aunt,  "  that  so  I  may  be  perfect  when  God  calls 
me  to  it." 

Horatia  made  frequent  efforts  to  see  her,  and  was 
angry,  I  am  afraid,  because  we  sometimes  put  obstacles  in 
the  way.  But  we  knew  that  aunt  Sarah  did  not  like  to 
refuse  her  admittance,  and  at  the  same  time  we  were  sure 
that  the  visits  were  harassing,  and  did  no  good.  As  for 
real  srffection,  it  was  impossible  there  should  be  any.  It 
was  only  the  wish  to  show  that  she  was  one  of  ourselves ; 
which  I  was  willing  enough  should  be  gratified  elsewhere, 


340  THE   EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE. 

if  she  liked  it.  She  was,  indeed,  fast  assuming  the  position 
of  the  head  of  the  family.  Mrs.  Mortimer,  of  East  Side, 
was  quite  an  influential  person  in  the  neighbourhood.  Her 
name  was  first  on  every  subscription-list,  her  energy  was 
the  theme  of  perpetual  remark.  She  was  making  her  way 
in  society,  dragging  my  uncle,  a  willing  slave,  at  the  wheels 
•of  her  chariot.  And  what  she  worked  for  that  she  had  ; 
for  so  it  is  ordered  by  God,  that  we  all  have  what  we 
really  strive  for,  though  we  may  not  be  able  to  perceive 
it.  Horatia  worked  for  power,  and  she  gained  power. 
For  myself,  I  knew  I  could  not  submit,  and  I  kept  aloof. 
But  still  we  never  quarrelled,  not  even  upon  the  subject  o^ 
admittance  to  aunt  Sarah's  room,  for  Miss  Cole  took  upon 
herself  to  refuse  that. 

Horatia's  house  (I  never  thought  of  calling  it  uncle 
Ralph's)  was  a  convenience  in  some  ways,  and  therefore  I 
was  bound  to  be  grateful  for  it.  Reginald,  always  my 
uncle's  favourite,  was  invited  to  spend  a  few  -days  there, 
and  at  the  same  time  Horatia  asked  the  young  lady  who 
was  to  be  my  future  sister-in-law.  This  gave  my  mother 
an  opportunity  of  making  her  acquaintance  without  trouble, 
and  I  think  it  did  something  towards  creating  a  more 
kindly  feeling  on  all  sides.  I  began  to  hope  that,  after  all, 
I  was  not  of  such  a  very  uncharitable  disposition.  I  was 
at  least  willing  to  see  good  if  I  could  ;  and  I  took  care  to 
say  that  we  were  all  grateful  for  the  hospitality,  which, 
from  whatever  motive  it  arose,  was  a  redeeming  trait  in 
Horatia's  character.  Aunt  Sarah  was  certainly  wise  in 
telling  me  not  to  put  myself  much  in  her  way,  but  to  take 
care  always  to  be  civil.  The  keeping  out  of  her  way  had 
guarded  us  from  jarring  upon  each  other,  and  the  civility 
was  an  opening  for  something  better,  when  occasion  of- 
fered. 

My  future  sister-in-law  was  a  gentle,  little  person,  very 
good-tempered,  but  without  much  mind.  I  wished  Regi- 
nald could  have  married  some  one  who  would  raise  the 
tone  of  his  character ;  but  that,  perhaps,  was  too  much  to 
expect ;  and  he  certainly  might  have  made  a  far  worse 
choice.  • 

Lady  Emily  was  absent  from  Lowood  all  this  time. 
Sophia  was  far  from  well,  and  they  went  away  for  change 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  341 

of  air  for  her.  The  happiness  of  the  whole  family  was 
very  much  broken  up,  and  I  did  not  see  what  the  end 
could  be,  for  Sophia  had  no  other  home  but  Lowood  till 
her  father  came  back  from  India ;  and  whilst  she  was  there 
Mr.  Beresford  should  remain  away.  So  far  it  was  a  con- 
solation to  me  that  he  would  not  come  in  Hester's  way. 

Another  event  which  occurred  just  at  that  period, 
was  an  offer  made  to  Herbert  to  travel  with  a  young  man 
in  bad  health,  who  had  for  some  time  been  under  Mr.  Harri- 
son's care.  It  was  only  an  idea  as  yet,  but  it  brightened 
his  prospects,  and  made  my  mother  much  happier.  We 
had  before  felt  that  he  must  not  linger  out  the  best  year? 
of  his  life  as  usher  at  a  school ;  but  I  had  always  argued 
that  if  he  took  the  work  placed  before  him,  and  really 
gave  his  energies  to  it,  something  better  would  in  the  end 
be  provided  ;  and  so  it  seemed  likely  to  prove.  The 
young  man's  father  had  a  good  appointment  under  govern- 
ment, and  if  Herbert  made  friends  with  him,  every  one 
said  it  would  be  a  great  advantage. 

It  was  strange  to  have  all  these  cares  for  this  present 
life  brought  before  one,  and  to  go  from  them  to  aunt 
Sarah's  sick-rooiii ;  but  it  was  excellent  practice  in  teach- 
ing one  to'see  Heaven  in  the  things  of  earth 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

Mr.  Malcolm  and  I  were  alone  with  aunt  Sarah  one 
evening,  about  a  month  after  the  unfortunate  affair  with 
Mr.  Beresford.  He  often  lingered  in  conversation  when 
prayers  were  over  ;  like  me  he  felt  the  influence  of  that 
quiet  chamber, — the  spell  by  which  the  souls  about  to 
depart  from  earth  bind  the  hearts  of  those  they  leave  be- 
hind. But  we  had  touched  this  night  upon  a  more  worldly 
subject ;  or,  at  least  upon  one  which  might  have  been 
worldly,  if  it  had  not  concerned  a  man  like  Mr.  Malcolm, 
and  been  referred  to  by  aunt  Sarah.  She  was  more  her 
former  self  than  she  had  been  for  some  time,  and  a  gleam 
of  the  deep  interest  of  by-gone  days  brightened  her  face, 
as  she  took  his  hand  when  he  was  preparing  to  go,  and 


342  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

said,  that  he  must  not  quarrel  with  an  old  woman  for 
speaking  freely,  but  must  let  her  tell  him  that  she  wished 
him  well  in  all  he  wished  for  himself 

He  understood  her,  and  turned  very  pale ;  for  he 
could  not  bring  himself  to  hope  as  I  did.  "  You  will  re- 
member that  you  had  my  wishes,  if  it  is  not  for  me  to  see 
you  happy,"  continued  my  aunt.  "And  if  the  child  should 
one  day  be  yours,  tell  her  that  aunt  Sarah  loved  you  both, 
and  prayed  God  to  bless  you."  Mr.  Malcolm  raised  her 
hand  to  his  lips,  and  thanked  her ;  but  he  did  not  trust 
himself  to  say  more,  and  turned  away.  "  He  will  have 
fresh  life  now,"  I  said,  when  he  was  gone.  "  He  has  been 
desponding  the  last  few  days,  because  Hester  has  given  so 
much  of  her  attention  to  Herbert  and  his  plans ;  before 
that,  I  am  sure  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  the  venture 
"  Ah  !  well,"  said  my  aunt ;  "  it's  no  wonder ;  'tis  a  ques- 
tion of  life  or  death,  Sally.  But  I  would  fain  have  it 
settled.  I  thought  I  had  done  with  caring  for  such 
things ;  but  old  hearts  are  long  in  growing  cold,  and  to 
see  the  child  happy  would  gladden  me  still." 

I  thought  of  parting  with  her, — of  aunt  Sarah  gonie 
also, —  of  my  mother's  failing  health,  and  Herbert's  ab- 
sence,— of  the  long,  lonely  life, — and  I  could  not»echo  the 
words.  "  Sit  down  by  me,  my  child,"  said  my  aunt,  and 
she  pointed  to  the  stool  at  her  feet,  and  as  I  sat  down,  laid 
her  hand  upon  my  head,  and  smoothed  my  forehead,  as  in 
the  days  of  childhood.  "  It's  not  gladness  for  you  ;  there's 
a  weary  way  before  you,  and  none,  it  may  seem,  to  travel 
it  with  you.  But,  Sally,  there  is  One  to  go  with  you 
dearer  far  than  the  best  loved  of  those  who  part  from  you  ; 
and  the  love  which  He  gives  can  make  up  for  all  other 
love."  "  I  know  it,"  I  said ;  "  I  feel  it  often  ;  but  then 
comes  the  thought  that  I  might  have  had  both."  "  And 
have  loved  Him  less,  and  man  more,"  said  my  aunt.  "  You 
will  not  wish  that,  my  child,  when  you  are  about  to  enter 
into  His  joy." 

"  No,  no,"  I  exclaimed  ;  "  but  the .  human  love  would 
have  been  second."  "  Not  with  you,  Sally  ;  if  it  would,  it 
would  have  been  given  you.  He  who  formed  the  heart, 
can  best  apportion  its  discipline.  When  He  summons  us 
into  the  wilderness,  it  is  because  He  sees  that,  without 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  343 

that  call,  we  never  should  be  His  alone ;  and  when  we 
listen  and  obey,  and  check  the  pining  for  human  solace, 
He  visits  us  in  love,  and  the  longing  of  our  souls  is  sat- 
isfied." 

"  Yes,  in  one's  best  moments ;  but  human  weakness 
would  linger  still,"  I  said,  "  even  were  we  saints." 

"  Even  so  ;  and  therefore  He  sends  us  human  consola- 
tion ;  and  of  that  I  would  speak  also.  But  it  is  the  giv- 
ing up  our  hearts  to  Him  which  is  the  first  comfort ;  I 
need  not  say  that  to  you,  Sally."  "  Indeed,  indeed,  you 
must,"  I  said ;  "  but  too  often  I  am  tempted  to  despair 
and  think  that  I  have  no  heart  to  offer."  "  The  love 
comes  like  all  other  love,"  said  my  annt ;  "  there  are  out- 
ward means  to  be  used ; — intercourse  by  prayer,  study  of 
His  Word,  reference  to  His  pleasure  in  every  little  duty 
of  life,  above  all,  frequent  Communion.  If  we  use  these, 
love  must  follow,  even  though  we  may  not  always  be  able 
to  feel  it.  It  is  so  with  human  affections,  of  which  we 
never  doubt.  We  are  cold  to  our  dearest  friends  at  times  ; 
but  the  secret  feeling  is  unchanged.  And  I  would  say 
this  the  more  to  you  now,  Sally,  because  your  day  of  trial 
is  at  hand.  There  are  hundreds  left  like  you  who  would 
fain  seek  God,  and  find  Him  all  in  all ;  but  they  yearn 
for  the  present  feeling,  and  because  it  does  not  come  at 
once,  they  grow  weary,  and  pine  after  human  love,  which 
they  cannot  have;  and,  at  last,  throw  themselves  back 
into  the  world  to  distract  their  thoughts,  and  so  they  are 
lost ; — lost  to  that  glorious  place  which  they  might  have 
had  in  God's  Kingdom,  though  it  may  be  saved  at  length, 
by  His  mercy,  as  '  brands  plucked  from  the  burning.' " 
She  paused,  and  as  she  sank  back  in  her  chair,  I  heard  her 
say  to,  herself, — "  My  soul  waiteth  still  upon  God,  for  my 
trust  is  in  Him."  I  turned  to  the  psalm  to  which  she  re- 
ferred, and  read  it  through  to  myself  Her  eye  rested 
upon  me  till  I  had  finished,  and  then  she  said,  "  You  may 
well  thank  Him,  Sally,  that  you  are  not  learning  all  this 
for  the  first  time.  Long  ago,  the  first  yearnings  of  your 
heart  were  offered  to  Him,  and  the  treasure  has  been  laid 
up  where  '  moth  and  rust  cannot  corrupt,'  and  will  surely 
be  rendered  back  to  you  tenfold.  It  is  a  hard  task  only 
to  begin  to  love  Him  when  all  human  affection  has  de- 


344  THE   EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE.      . 

serted  us ;  "but  if  we  have  made  Him  our  shadow  when 
life's  sky  was  clear,  He  will  surely  be  our  light  when  it  is 
clouded." 

I  could  scarcely  answer  her,  for  my  heart  was  very 
full;  hut  I  thanked  and  blessed  her  for  her  comfort, 
though  I  still  begged  her  to  rest  herself  She  exerted 
herself,  however,  to  continue.  "  My  time  is  short,  Sally," 
she  said ;  "  and  when  the  end  may  be,  none  can  think  or 
prophecy.  It  may  come  suddenly,  '  as  a  thief  in  the 
night,'  and  therefore  I  would  say  now  what  then  I  shall 
have  wished  I  had  said.  Eighty-five  years  is  a  long  expe- 
rience. Some  things  I  have  learnt  by  practice,  some  by 
neglect ;  but  both  may  alike  be  useful  to  you.  When  you 
are  left  alone,  child,  don't  shut  yourself  up,  and  get  odd 
ways.  Odd. ways  are,  most  times,  selfish  ways.  Live  with 
your  fellow-creatures  as  they  live,  so  long  as  they  live  in- 
nocently; and  remember,  that  when  God  cuts  ofif  the 
shoots  of  our  own  interests,  it  is  that  we  may  graft  upon 
our  hearts  the  interests  of  others."  "  I  sometimes  think," 
I  said,  "  that  I  should  like  to  lead  such  a  life  as  one  hears 
described  by  Romanists  ;  not  exactly,  perhaps,  the  life  of 
a  nun,  but  of  a  sister  of  charity."  "  It  might  be  a  good 
and  holy  life  for  many,"  replied  my  aunt;  "and  it  might 
be  better  for  us  Church  people,  if  such  things  were  pos- 
sible ;  the  time  may  come  when  it  may  be.  But  there 
must  be  numbers  still  who  can't  live  the  life,  and  yet  they 
must  be  single,  and,  as  most  folks  think,  lonely.  And  so, 
Sally,  most  probably^  it  will  be  with  you.  Your  mother 
will  be  your  care,  perchance,  for  years  to  come  ;  that  will 
save  you  from  much  of  the  lonely  feeling,  but  not  from 
all ;  for,  as  infirmity  increases,  we  are  less  companions  to 
each  other.  When  it  shall  please  God  to  part  you,  life 
may  be  too  far  gone,  and  health  like  yours  too  much 
broken,  for  any  thing  but  the  stillness  of  age.  It  is 
better,  therefore,  that  you  should  look  to  such  a  future^ 
and  not  dream  of  that  which  it  seems  you  have  no  chance 
of  enjoying."  "Definite  work  is  what  I  always  longed 
for,"  I  said ;  "  and  what  I  am  so  thankful  to  have  now." 
"  It's  a  great  help,"  replied  my  aunt ;  '•  and,  doubtless, 
there  might  be  much  more  Of  it  than  there  is. '  But  folks 
trouble  themselves  often  because  they  think  they  haven'  i 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  345 

It,  when,  in  fact,  it  is  close  at  their  doors.  Definite  work 
is  not  always  that  which  is  cut  and  squared  for  us,  but  that 
which  comes  as  a  claim  upon  the  conscience,  whether  it's 
nursing  in  a  hospital,  or  hemming  a  handkerchief  The 
Church  of  God  is  buift,  as  we  are  told,  of  living  stones, 
but  it  doefll  not  follow  that  they  are  to  be  all  of  the  same 
size,  or  that  some  of  them  may  not  be  intended  to  fill  up 
the  holes  and  corners,  and  keep  the  others  firmly  together. 
It  would  be  a  hard  world  to  live  in,  Sally,  if  there  were 
none  to  do  the  odds  and  ends  of  the  work  in  it."  "  Cer- 
tainly," I  said,  "  one  sees  that  in  a  family ;  the  regular 
workers  in  a  house  would  often  be  very  much  at  a  loss  if 
there  were  no  one  to  attend  to  what  you  call  the  odds  and 
ends."  "  And  what  is  the  world  but  a  family  too  ?"  con- 
tinued my  aunt ;  "  and  what  would  become  of  the  folks 
who  have  definite  work,  if  it  were  not  for  the  indefinite  ? 
But  there's  a  mistake  of  words  in  the  matter.  All  work 
— work  for  God  that  is — is  definite.  It  may  be  a  bit 
here,  and  a  bit  there,  and  when  we  look  at  it,  it  may  seem 
to  have  no  object,  but  who  are  we,  sitting  down  in  this 
corner  of  the  universe,  to  dare  to  say  so  of  any  duty, 
however  small,  which  comes  ordered  by  God?  Depend 
upon  it,  Sally,  if  there's  an  earnest  will  there's  just  as 
much  to  be  done  by  persons  who  are  sent  from  place  to 
place,  and  can  only,  as  they  think,  strive  after  a  little  good 
in  one  case,  and  a  little  kindness  in  another,  as  there  is 
by  folks  who  live  together  by  rule,  and  divide  their  days 
and  their  employment  by  strict  measurement.  I  am  not 
saying,  remember,  that  the  rule  and  the  measurement  are 
not  good,  but  that  if  they  are  not  to  be  had  without  the 
neglect  of  some  prior  duty,  we  may  be  sure  that  God  has 
chosen  us  to  be  amongst  his  scattered,  instead  of  His 
fixed,  workers,  and  all  we  have  to  do  is  to  catch  thankfully 
at  the  most  we  can.  However,  all  this  need  not  trouble 
you.  Your  way  is  clear  enough  at  the  present  moment, 
and,  if  ever  you  should  be  differently  placed,  I  doubt  not 
you  will  have  learnt  to  look  at  your  position,  and  see  the 
opportunities  of  good  it  offers." 

"  I  quite  see,"  I  said,  "  that,  at  the  present  time,  my 
pupils  are  a  great  comfort  and  advantage  to  me." 

"Yes,"  replied  my  aunt.  "A  comfort  now,  and  a 
15* 


346  THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE. 

blessing  for  years  to  come,  for  they  point  out  the  begin 
ning  of  a  work  which  you  may  carry  on  through  life ; 
they  are  the  foster-children  whom  God  has  granted  you, 
and  the  love  of  a  foster-mother  is  their  due.  Keep  them 
near  you,  Sally,  when  they  are  goife  from  you ;  write  to 
them  when  you  can't  see  them ;  make  them  tell»you  their 
troubles  and  their  joys.  There  is  no  interference  with  a 
mother's  province  in  this,  any  more  than  there  is  in  the 
care  you  give  them  now.  Their  first  love  and  their  first  sym- 
pathy will  be  hers  if  she  be  good  for  anything  ;  but  as  we 
go  on  in  life,  and  troubles  thicken,  there  are  few  greater 
blessings  than  a  tried  friend  out  of  the  immediate  family, 
and  such  you  may  be  to  them."  "  Indeed,  there  is  scarcely 
any  greater  earthly  blessings,"  I  said,  earnestly.  "  You 
have  taught  me  that  by  experience."  She  sighed  deeply. 
"  Ah  !  Sally,  there  are  heavy  accounts  on  that  score.  God 
knows  how  I  have  mourned  for  that  which  I  have  left  un- 
done. I  may  find  excuses, — infirmities  which  came  upon 
me  early,  and  difference  of  opinion  from  your  father,  and 
difl&culty  in  understanding  your  mother. — but  I  might 
have  done  far  more  than  I  have,  and  many  are  the  minutes 
I  have  spent  in  praying  that  He  would  not  let  the  neglects 
of  the  guilty  fall  upon  the  innocent.  But  beyond  rela- 
tions, there  is  much  to  be  done  when  we  look  out  for  it. 
Here,  child," — and  she  gave  me  a  key, — "  take  this,  and 
unlock  the  bureau  in  the  corner,  and  look  for  a  packet  of 
papers  in  the  farthest  drawer."  It  was  sealed  up,  and 
marked  "  Letters  from  my  children."  "  I  have  outlived 
them  all,"  said  my  aunt,  as  she  broke  the  seal  of  the  en- 
velope, and  took  out  about  twenty  letters.  "  Some  day 
you  may  chance  to  have  time  to  look  them  over.  They 
are  from  young  things,  who,  at  different  times,  when  I  was 
a  middle-aged  woman,  and  had  gained  experience  in  life, 
took  a  fancy  to  be  with  me,  and  to  listen  to  me.  I  could 
not  cast  them  aside  when  God  had  put  them  in  my  way  j 
and  so  I  gathered  them,  as  it  were,  about  me,  and  gave 
them  what  help  I  could  to  forward  them  in  their  journey. 
They  went  their  ways,  some  near  and  some  far  off ;  and 
with  some  the  tie  grew  closer  and  closer,  and  with  some 
it  loosened  as  others  were  formed ;  but  there  was  not  one 
who  was  not  dear  to  me.  and  whose  fate  I  did  not  watch 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  347 

anxiously.  They  have  entered  upon  their  rest  before  me ; 
and  when  I  look  forward  to  the  world  to  which  I  am  has- 
tening, the  thought  that  they  will  be  there  to  meet  me  is 
amongst  the  brightest  of  my  hopes."  "  May  I  take  the 
letters  home  with  me?"  I  said.  "I  shall  like  looking 
them  over  very  much ;  but  I  wish  they  had  been  your 
answers."  "  There  was  little  enough  in  the  answers," 
replied  my  aunt ;  "  more  sympathy  than  advice  ;  but  the 
sympathy  sugared  the  advice,  what  there  was,  and  made  it 
palatable.  Perchance,  they  did  more  good  to  me,  poor 
children,  than  I  did  to  them.  They  cheered  me  at  the 
first  coming  of  the  great  sorrow  which  has  lingered  with 
me  through  life, — the  death  of  my  brother ;  and  they  kept 
me  young,  when  my  nature  was  to  grow  old,  fast ;  and, 
moreover,  they  gave  me  something  to  think  of  away  from 
Carsdale  ;  and  so  I  was  saved  from  being  as  narrow  in  my 
views  as  I  should  have  been  if  left  to  myself  There's  a 
danger  that  way,  Sally,  even  in  the  cases  we  see  which 
seem  given  up  wholly  to  God  and  His  poor.  All  things 
are  compound ;  the  air  we  breathe  must  have  divers  gases, 
in  different  proportions  in  order  to  be  wholesome  ;  and  so 
for  the  mind  there  must  be  variety  in  work,  and  variety 
in  thought,  if  we  wish  to  keep  it  in  health,  and  give  it  a 
right  view  of  comparative  duties."  "  I  feel  that  myself, 
often,"  I  said.  "  I  think  about  home  troubles,  and  chil- 
dren's lessons,  till  I  seem  to  myself  to  have  lost  all  sense 
of  the  larger  affairs  of  life." 

"  And  so  the  sense  of  proportion  is  lost,  and  judgment 
becomes  faulty,"  said  my  aunt.  "  Therefore,  Sally,  though 
your  work  may  be  one,  don't  let  .your  thoughts  be  one. 
God  has  given  you  powers  of  study  and  reflection  ;  don't 
let  them  go  to  sleep.  Keep  up  with  the  days  in  which 
you  live.  You  are  better  off  than  I  ever  was,  in  the  way 
of  learning.  Foreign  tongues,  which  I  never  thought  of 
knowing,  are  easy  to  you ;  and  there's  more  in  the  way  of 
history  in  one  corner  of  your  brain,  than  was  ever  to  be 
found  in  all  mine ;  and  these  things  are  not  to  be  thrown 
aside  and  called  worldly,  because,  maybe,  they  treat  of 
the  things  of  the  world.  There's  a  spiritual  meaning  in 
all,  if  we  set  ourselves  in  earnest  to  discover  it.  It  has 
been  the  will  of  God  to  throw  the  affairs  of  the  world 


348  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

together  like  the  parts  of  a  puzzle,  but  He  has  also  givev 
us  the  key  of  His  Wisdom  and  Goodness  to  show  what  the 
whole  is  intended  to  be,  and  bestowed  reason  upon  us  to 
help  us  in  putting  the  puzzle  together  ;  and  so.  surely.  He 
must  have  intended  that  we  should  make  use  of  that  reason.'' 

"  I  generally  read,  I  am  afraid,  for  amusement,"  I  said. 
"  When  the  children  are  gone  I  am  too  tired  for  study." 
"  There's  no  harm  in  reading  for  amusement  in  your  case, 
now,"  said  my  aunt.  "  What  I  was  thinking  of  more, 
were  the  days  when  you  might  have  leisure,  and  not  be 
fit  for  active  work;  and  then  there's  apt  to  come  the 
thought,  to  minds  that  don't  turn  willingl}^  to  cOmmon 
things,  that  there's  no  value  in  any  learning  but  that 
which  has  to  do  directly  with  Heaven.  I  don't  think  that, 
Sally.  Most  especially,  I  don't  think  so  when  I  look  upon 
the  young  who  are  springing  up  about  us,  and  want  our 
experience  for  their  guidance!  There  is  a  time  indeed, — 
such  a  time  as  this  now  present  to  me, — ^when  we  stand 
upon  the  brink  of  the  dark  waters,  and  have  but  to  live  in 
sorrow  for  our  past  sins,  and  patient  waitings  till  our 
change  shall  come ;  but  there  are  many  years  before,  in 
which  we  are  used,  not  as  the  guides  to  accompany,  but 
the  sign-posts  to  point  out  the  way  to,  our  fellow-creatures. 
How  is  that  to  be  rightly  done,  unless  we  know  whither 
the  way  tends,  and  what  it  is  which  they  who  enter  upon 
it  would  seek?  To  direct  others,  we  must  strive  to  live, 
and  think,  and  feel  with  them ;  and  therefore  it  is  that 
the  books,  and  the  stormy  questions  of  religion,  or  poli- 
tics, or  morals,  which  are  all  absorbing  to  the  young,  must 
Bot'be  forgotten  by  the  old." 

"  Certainly,"  I  said,  "  there  is  enough  to  do  in  the 
world,  if  one  only  knew  how  to  set  about  it."  "  Enough, 
indeed,"  replied  my  aunt,  with  a  sigh  ;  "  even  if  we  had 
no  power  to  teach  and  set  example.  Enough  only  in  set- 
ting ourselves  to  pray  for  those  who  never  pray  for  them- 
selves. The  wickedness  of  the  world  is  an  awful  thought, 
Sally,  when  we  stand,  as  it  were,  between  it  and  the  pres- 
ence of  God,  and  trust  ourselves  to  look  back  upon  it." 
"  But  you  have  exerted  yourself  as  much  as  you  could, 
aunt  Sarah,"  I  said,  "  to  prevent  and  check  it.  If  I  could 
hope  to  have  done  as  much  by  the  close  of  my  life  as  you 
have,  I  should  indeed  be  happy." 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  MS 

'^  May  God  forgive  me  the  sin  of  those  good  deeds, 
Sally,"  said  my  aunt ;  "  for  if  He  shall  be  extreme  -to 
mark  what  is  amiss  in  them,  how  may  I  abide  it?  But 
I  will  give  you,  child,  the  few  rules  that  are  the  result  of 
those  doings.  Never  be  afraid  of  doing  little  because  you 
can't  do  much.  Take  the  first  duty  that  comes  before 
you,  and  put  your  heart  into  it,  and  it  will  lead  to  a 
second.  Persons  who  complain  they  can't  find  out  claims 
of  charity,  are,  for  the  most  part,  those  who  pass  over 
their  duties  at  home ;  or  if  they  try  to  perform  them,  do 
so  with  a  heart  dwelling  upon  the  thought  of  something 
else.  Try  to  put  a  new  spirit  into  old  ways,  before  you 
chalk  out  new  ones ;  if  ydu  don't,  you  give  offence,  and 
what  you  build  up  with  one  hand  you  pull  down  with 
the  other.  Never  let  your  conscience  be  troubled  by  the 
claims  of  duties  that  don't  belong  to  you.  When  one 
knocks  at  your  door,  give  it  admittance,  and  ask  its  busi- 
ness;  if  you  ought  to  atttend  to  it,  fix  your  time  aijd 
your  method  with  it  at  once ;  but  if  not,  send  it  away, 
don't  let  it  stand  troubling  and  disturbing  you,  and  taking 
the  spirit  out  of  your  other  duties.  A  good  part  of  the 
humours  which  make  families  of  good  folks  unhappy,  arise 
from  the  unsettled  duties  which  throng  round  them,  and 
which  no  one  has  ever  been  at  the  pains  to  decide  ought — 
or  ought  not — to  be  attended  to.  And,  most  especially, 
Sally,  don't  thrust  yourself,  or  let  others  thrust  you, 
where  you've  no  concern.  Don't  try  to  be  a  man  when 
you  are  only  a  woman ;  and  don't  set  up  to  preach  when 
you  are  only  called  upon  to  practise.  There,  that's  all  I 
can  think  of  now  ;  I  dare  say  I've  said  it  all  before ;  but 
pondering  on  an  old  maid's  life  sent  me  back  to  see  what 
I  had  learnt  from  my  own." 

I  think  some  of  it  had  been  said  before,  but  I  liked  to 
hear  it  again  ;  only  I  was  glad,  now  that  she  was  silent, 
because  I  saw  she  was  distressing  herself  by  talking.  And 
she  did  do  herself  harm,  I  am  afraid.  She  was  not  so 
well  after  I  left  her  that  evening.  I  prepared  to  go  home 
about  half-past  seven,  and  she  gave  me  her  blessing  as 
usual,  and  told  me  to  come  again  early  the  next  day,  and 
let  her  know  how  all  things  prospered ;  and  I  left  her, 
feeling,  as  I  always  did,  that  sheiiad  given  an  impetus  to  life. 

Nurse  came  to  open  the  street  door  for  me,  and  told 


860  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

me  that  tea  was  ready,  and  I  went  to  my  own  room  to 
take  off  ray^ bonnet,  without  going  into  the  drawing-room. 
A  light  step  followed  me  up  the  stairs ;  it  was  Hester's. 
She  wanted  to  know,  she  said,  what  I  thought  of  aunt 
Sarah  ;  and  she  wished  to  tell  me,  also,  that  Herbert's 
appointment  was  settled.  He  had  called  to  let  my  mo- 
ther know,  and  he  was  coming  again.  After  saying  this 
she  paused,  and,  as  I  stood  before  the  glass,  I  saw  that 
she  held  by  the  table  to  support  herself.  "  I  have  heard 
something  else  also,"  she  began  again,  and  her  voice  trem- 
bled. "  Mr.  Malcolm  has  a  living."  I  did  not  wish  her 
to  see  that  I  was  prepared  for  this  information,  and  I 
answered  quickly,  "  Oh,  indeed !  we  shall  have  nothing 
but  congratulations  to-night ! "  The  poor  child  turned 
very  pale,  and  sat  down.  "  I — I— have  you  seen  Mr. 
Malcolm  ?  "  she  enquired.  "  No,"  I  replied  ;  "  how  could 
I? — I  am  only  just  come  in."  "  He  is  down  stairs,"  she 
continued  ;  and  the  tone  was  so  peculiar,  that  I  said, 
directly  :  "  Do  you  wish  me  to  see  him  1 "  She  made  no 
reply  ;  but  when  I  turned  to  look  at  her,  she  came  up  to 
me  and  hid  her  face  upon  my  shoulder,  and  whispered : 
"  Oh,  mammy,  he  asked  me  if  I  would  go  with  him  to  his 
living,  and  I  said,  yes." 


CHAPTER  XLII.  •       ^ 

My  darling  Hester  was  engaged  to  be  married.  One  of 
the  great  cares  of  my  life  was  removed,  and  I  was  from 
my  heart  thankful.  Of  the  personal  loss  to  my  mother 
and  myself  there  was  little  time  then  to  think,  for  the 
marriage  was  to  be  immediate.  Mr.  Malcolm's  wishes 
were  seconded  by  a  request  which  none  could  resist. 
"  Let  me  see  the  child  happy,"  said  aunt  Sarah,  "  and  so 
my  last  wish  will  have  been  granted."  And  Hester  her- 
Bclf,  though,  at  first,  painfully  alive  to  the  contrast  ,be- 
tween  her  own  bright  earthly  hopes,  and  the  shadows  which 
were  gathering  around  those  she  loved,  could  not  bring 
herself  to  refuse. 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LITE.  351 

Three  weeks  after  the  proposal  was  made,  the  wed 
ding  was  to  take  place.  The  time  was  one  of  quiet  pro 
paration,  rather  than  of  gay  excitement, — a  season  of 
many  hallowed  thoughts, — many  lessons  which  were  to 
tell  upon  the  long  future  of  life.  My  child's  heart  waa 
fully  with  him  to  whom  she  had  given  herself;  but  her 
thoughts,  and  his  also,  lingered  in  aunt  Sarah's  dying 
chamber.  Very  beautiful  it  was  to  watch  the  thoughtful 
tenderness  of  age,  and  the  loving  devotion  of  youth. 
Hester  went  da/  by  day  to  tell  all  she  had  done,  and  all 
she  intended  to  do,  in  the  hope  to  cheer  the  weary  hours 
of  weakness  ;  whilst  aunt  Sarah,  as  with  the  last  flicker- 
ing gleam  of  earth's  dying  interests,  heard,  and  aided,  and 
gave  those  passing  words  of  counsel  which,  by  the  bless 
ing  of  Heaven,  were  to  bring  forth  unto  Eternal  Life. 

There  were  very  many  mercies  shown  us  at  that  time  ; 
things  which  might  have  disturbed  us  were  removed,  and 
the  arrangements  we  were  able  to  make  were  in  no  way 
unsuited  to  the  feelings  we  were  all  sharing. 

My  uncle  and  Horatia  were  absent.  My  uncle  had 
been  called  away  into  Cornwall  upon  business,  something 
connected  with  the  old  affair  of  the  mines,  and  Horatia 
had  agreed  to  go  with  him.  There  was,  therefore,  no  oc- 
casion to  mix  them  up  with  our  plans.  Vaughan,  Caro- 
line, and  Joanna  were  to  come  to  us  for  two  days.  Re- 
ginald was  prevented. 

It  was  settled  that  we  should  have  no  one  at  the  wed- 
ding but  our  own  family,  Mr.  Malcolm's  brother,  who  was 
to  perform  the  ceremony,  Mrs.  Blair,  and  my  little  pupils, 
who  were  to  be  Hester's  bride-maids.  Lady  Emily  was 
not  returned  to  Lowood,  and  I  was  the  more  glad  that  the 
marriage  should  be  hastened  on  her  account.  I  was  sure 
she  could  not  be  near  us  without  entering  warmly  into  it, 
for  she  was  always  excessively  fond  of  Hester  ;  and  yet  it 
must  have  brought  recollections  which  would  be  full  of 
pain. 

It  was  a  clear,  sunshiny  morning,  fresh,  but  warm  for 
the  season  of  the  year,  and  the  light  streamed  gladly 
through  the  curious  windows  in  the  roof  of  the  old  church, 
and  the  blue  heaven,  which  had  once  seemed  to  me  an  an- 
gel's eye,  looked  down  upon  the  small  marriage  party, 


352  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF  LIFE. 

which  seemed  lost  in  the  size  of  the  building.  I  stood 
near  the  altar  with  my  mother  by  my  side,  leaning  upon 
Herbert's  arm.  Close  to  us  was  Hester,  her  sweet  face 
colourless  as  the  dress  she  wore,  and  the  watery  mist 
gathering  over  her  bright  eyes.  I  saw  her  tremble  when 
the  question  was  asked,  which  seemed  as  if  it  would  sum- 
mon from  the  depths  of  the  heart  the  secrets  that  no  eye 
but  that  of  God  has  ever  scanned  ;  but  her  voice  was  jBrm 
as  she  gave  the  promise  '•  for  better  for  worse,  for  richer 
for  poorer,  in  sickness  and  in  health,  to  love  and  to  cher- 
ish till  death." 

And  I  knew  that  "  the  blessings  of  all  spiritual  bene- 
diction and  grace  "  must  indeed  fall  upon  them  both  ;  for 
they  were  amongst  those  Whose  one  prayer  is,  "  so  to  live 
together  in  this  world,  that  in  the  world  to  come  they  may 
have  life  everlasting." 

When  the  service  was  ended,  and  the  ordinary  forms 
were  gone  through,  the  few  gazers  who  had  been  attracted 
to  the  spot,  saw  the  larger  portion  of  the  wedding  party 
drive  off  from  the  great  porch ;  whilst  Mr.  Malcolm  and 
Hester,  my  mother  and  myself,  stole  quietly  away  from 
another  door,  and,  entering  a  fly  which  was  in  waiting, 
went  to  aunt  Sarah's." 

My  aunt  was  placed  in  her  usual  position  by  the  fire. 
She  sat  upright,  supported  by  pillows  ;  a  small  table,  with 
her  prayer-book  open  upon  it,  was  in  front  of  her.  At  a 
little  distance  was  another  table  prepared  for  the  Holy 
Communion. 

We  knelt  together,  my  sweet  child  close  to  aunt  Sa- 
rah's chair. 

There  is  a  "  peace  that  passeth  understanding."  It  was 
present  with  us  still ;  and  we  lingered  in  prayer,  dreading 
to  break  it.  Then  aunt  Sarah  stretched  out  her  feeble 
hands,  and  laid  them  upon  Hester's  head,  and  said, — - 
"  God,  before  whom  my  fathers  walked, — God,  which  fed 
me  all  my  life  long  unto  this  day, — the  Saviour  which 
hath  redeemed  me  from  evil, — bless  my  child." 

And  so  we  rose  up,  and,  one  by  one,  received  aunt 
Sarah's  kiss,  and  the  marriage  service  was,  for  us,  con- 
eluded. 

They  were  to  be  absent  a  fortnight  only.     Hester  was 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  353 

'  too  anxious  about  aunt  Sarah  to  think  of  enjoyment  in 
the  ordinary  sense  of  the  word  ;  and  said,  that  she  would 
far  rather  return  to  Carsdale  for  the  remainder  of  the 

♦  month,  which  was  to  elapse  before  Mr.  Malcolm  went  to 
his  living.  They  were  to  occupy  our  house  then,  and  my 
mother  and  I  were  to  be  at  aunt  Sarah's.  We  removed 
there  immediately,  for  the  responsibility  was  becoming  too 
great  for  Miss  Cole  to  bear  alone.  I  went  backwards  and 
forwards  to  my  pupils,  and  at  those  times  my  dear  mother 
took  her  share  of  •ttendance  upon  aunt  Sarah.  Herbert 
was  not  with  us  at  all.  He  was  obliged  to  join  his  pupil 
the  day  after  the  marriage. 

Very  unlike  a  wedding  season  it  was  ;  but  there  was 
great  peace  through  all  the  sadness.  It  was  as  if  one 
lived  in  a  church.  The  world's  pleasure  was  excluded, 
but  so  also  were  the  world's  cares  ;  or,  if  they  came,  it 
was  only  to  look  at  aunt  Sarah,  and  they  vanished  into 
nothingness.  ' 

Aunt  Sarah  still  sat  up  every  day,  in  fact,  she  suffered 
from  an  oppression  on  the  chest,  which  prevented  her  from 
lying  down.  We  read  to  her  a  great  deal ;  for,  happily, 
she  was  only  very  slightly  deaf.  One  of  the  penitential 
Psalms  was  now  added,  daily,  to  her  ordinary  devotional 
reading.  They  were  the  fittest  words,  she  said,  for  a  dy- 
ing woman  ;  and,  as  often  as  they  were  repeated,  they  still 
brought  new  lessons  of  repentance.  The  other  books  we 
read  were  generally  devotional,  but  sometimes  she  would 
go  back  to  her  old  favourites, — the  Spectator,  and  some 
papers  in  the  Rambler,  or  Walton's  Lives.  Now  and 
then  she  tried  to  knit  a  little,  but  that  was  more  mourn- 
ful to  me  than  anything,  her  hands  were  so  very  feeble. 

Hester  and  Mr.  Malcolm  had  been  away  about  ten 
days,  when  Miss  Cole  came  to  my  room  one  morning, 
whilst  I  was  dressing,  to  tell  me  that  aunt  Sarah  had 
been  attacked  with  spasms.  I  went  to  her,  and  found 
her  sitting  up,  but  very  much  altered.  She  was  suffering 
great  pain,  and  we  sent  for  her  doctor,  who  gave  her  me- 
dicine, which  relieved  it,  but  he  looked  very  grave  ;  and 
when  I  followed  him  out  of  her  room,  and  asked  what  he 
thought  of  her,  he  said  that  the  case  was  serious ;  it  could 
not  now  last  very  long.      ■  » 


854  THE    EXPERIENCE   OF   LITE. 

The  misty,  dreary  sense  of  wretchedness  and  change 
which  came  over  mel  yet  I  did  not  shed  a  tear.  I  did 
not  dare ;  but  I  went  to  my  mother,  and  asked  her,  if  she 
did  not  think  it  would  be  as  well  to  send  to  Hester  and  • 
Mr.  Malcolm.  We  knew  where  they  were  likely  to  be  the 
next  day,  and  a  letter  would  reach  them  and  bring  them 
back  at  once.  I  thought  they  would  both  be  happier  with 
us.  My  mother  he&itated  a  little,  and  said,  she  scarcely 
thought,  in  aunt  Sarah's  state  of  weakness,  that  she  could 
live  through  the  day.  But  I  had  a  sif  ong  conviction  in 
my  own  mind  that  her  strength  was  greater  than  any  one 
imagined  ;  and,  at  any  rate,  I  was  sure  Hester  would 
wish  to  make  the  effort  to  see  her  again  ;  and,  at  last,  I 
gained  my  point,  and  wrote. 

I  did  not  go  to  my  pupils  that  day,  but  sat,  for 
the  most  part,  in  aunt  Sarah's  room.  She  was  bet- 
ter after  breakfast,  and  asked  me  to  read  the  Psalms 
to  her — the  twentieth  day  of  the  month  it  was.  She 
was  scarcely  able  to  repeat  the  verses  even  in  a  whisper ; 
but  when  I  had  ended,  she  told  me  that  she  had  followed 
every  word,  and  had  never  found  more  satisfaction  from 
them.  We  talked  a  little  then.  She  spoke  of  her  own 
state,  and  said,  what  a  blessing  it  was  to  be  composed  and 
happy  at  such  a  moment :  and  she  was  so,  though  the 
burden  of  innumerable  offences  was  upon  her  soul.  He 
who  had  redeemed  her  would  not  forsake  her.  Her  full 
trust  was  that  she  was  going  to  be  with  Him,  and  it  was 
all  she  cared  to  know  of  the  happiness  in  store.  I  men- 
tioned those  whom  she  had  loved,  and  to  whom  she  might 
now  soon  be  restored,  and  especially  her  brother ;  and  she 
said,  that  she  fully  hoped  to  meet  them,  and  it  was  a 
thought  of  infinite  joy,  but  it  was  not  the  ground  of  her 
happiness  :  she  did  not  think  it  ought  ever  to  be.  "  One 
love,  Sally,"  she  added,  "  one  all-sufficient  love  is  my  com- 
fort and  joy, — the  love  which  has  blotted  out  sin."  The 
words  seemed  to  set  belGpre  me  what  my  own  feelings 
would  be  in  such  a  state,  and  I  said,  that  if  I  were  to  ask 
any  one  blessing  which  I  could  conceive,  greater  thaiu 
another,  it  would  be  to  have  such  a  sense  of  love.  I  had 
always  dreaded  the  buried  offences  which  would  rise  up 
in  one's  last  hour  and  weaken  it.     "  They  do  rise  up,  my 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LI^E.  355 

child,"  she  said,  solemnly  ;  "  sins  long,  long  forgotten  ;  if 
it  were  not  so,  the  thought  of  death  to  one  who  has  out 
lived  life  would  be  joy  which  a  mortal  frame  could  not 
bear.  But  the  love  of  God's  love  is  stronger  than  reason  ; 
— more  soothing  than  the  hopes  of  repentance, — better 
even  than  faith.  Who  can  distrust  it  ?  "  She  paused  ; 
and  feeling  that  I  might  never  again  have  the  opportunity 
of  speaking  to  her  of  my  own  faults,  I  asked  her  to  for- 
give any  that  I  had  ever  committed  against  her.  Often  I 
had  neglected  her  wishes ; — as  a  child,  before  I  understood 
her,  and  had  many  times  been  cold  and  disobedient  to  her 
will. 

-  The  smile  that  lit  up  her  face  was  surpassingly  sweet. 
"  God's  blessing  rest  upon  the  child  of  my  old  age,"  she 
said.  "  In  life  and  in  death,  Sally,  may  He  give  to  you 
that  comfort  ^hich,  through  you,  He  has  granted  to  me." 

That  was  all  we  said  then.  One  of  the  attacks  o-f 
spasms  came  on,  and  we  were  very 'much  frightened  for 
her.  I  grew  extremely  anxious  about  Hester  and  Mr. 
]y^%lcolm.  It  seemed  impossible  that 'they  could  return 
in  time.  Aunt  Sarah  sat  up,  however,  till  the  evening. 
We  could  scarcely  make  her  eat  anything,  but  she  did 
not  suffer  as  much  pain  as  before  ;  and  when,  at  length, 
we  put  her  into  bed,  she  seemed  more  comfortable,  and 
said,  she  thought  she  might  sleep. 

The  next  day  was  very  like  the  former,  except  that  we 
persuaded  my  aunt  not  to  attempt  to  get  up.  A  reclin- 
ing position  being  so  painful,  we  propped  her  up  with  pil- 
lows. She  was  anxious  herself,  then,  about  Hester,  but 
said,  it  was  all  God's  will ;  she  could  not  have  a  wish  to 
see  the  child,  if  He  desired  it  to  be  otherwise.  My  moth- 
er tried  to  persuade  me  that  they  would  not  have  the  let- 
ter in  time  ;  but  I  was  sure,  from  what  I  had  said,  that 
they  would  set  off  at  a  moment's  notice,  and  I  listened  to 
every  carriage  that  went  down  the  street,  thinking  it 
would  stop.  But  it  grew  dark,  and  they  did  not  come ; 
and  both  my  mother  and  aunt  Sarah  begged  me  not  to 
trouble  myself  so  much  about  it.  I  think  my  mother  se- 
cretly wished  that  Hester  might  be  spared  the  trial ; 
and — for  aunt  Sarah, — she  had  now  but  one  thought, — 
that  of  entire  submission  in  every  minute  particular. 


856  THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE. 

I  ttougHt,  tHen,  that  I  could  never  forget  all  t  /ittle 
incidents  of  each  day,  but  many  have  faded  fr«m  my 
memory.  Yet  the  impression  is  ineffaceable.  The  strong, 
energetic  will,  disciplined  into  the  meekness  of  a  child  ; 
the  quick  glance  stilled  ;  the  eager  words  calmed ;  even 
the  tones  of  the  voice  softened  into  a  sweetness  which 
the  ear  loved  to  dwell  upon ; — it  was  the  reward  of  heav- 
enly purity  granted  even  upon  earth. 

And  she  felt,  herself,  that  a  peculiar  blessing  was 
granted  her.  She  could  not  hope,  she  said,  to  make  oth- 
ers understand  it ;  but  it  was  rest,  perfect  rest,  with  the 
gladness  of  unutterable  joy  beyond  it.  Yet  her  earthly 
affections  seemed  called  out  more  fully  than  ever.  In- 
deed, I  had  never  understood  till  then  how  devotedly  fond 
she  was  of  us.  "  Think,  Sally,"  she  said  to  me  that  even- 
ing, as  I  stood  by  her  bedside,  "  think  what  the  prospect 
of  Heaven  must  be,  to  make  me  willing  to  give  you  all  up 
for  it." 

Miss  Cole  always  slept  in  aunt  Sarah's  room,  and  she 
would  not  yield  up* the  place  to  any  one  ;  but  I  could  not 
make  up  my  mind  to  go  to  bed  that  night,  and  I  lay  down 
on  the  sofa  in  the  drawing-FOom,  ready  to  be  called  at  any 
moment.  Two  or  three  times  I  went  into  aunt  Sarah's 
chamber ;  but  she  was  lying  quietly,  and,  I  hoped,  occa- 
sionally sleeping. 

I  fell  asleep  towards  morning,  and  was  awakened  by 
the  sound  of  a  carriage  stopping  at  a  little  distance  from 
the  house,  before  which  straw  was  laid  to  prevent  noise. 
I  was  sure  Hester  and  Mr.  Malcolm  must  be  come ;  and. 
without  disturbing  the  servants,  I  went  down  stairs  and 
unbarred  the  house  door.  They  were  there,  as  I  was  sure 
they  would  be ;  they  had  travelled  all  night,  and  Hester 
looked  dreadfully  worn  ;  but  the  relief  it  was  to  her  to 
know  that  she  was  not  too  late,  was  beyond  expression. 
She  followed  me  at  once  to  aunt  Sarah's  room.  I  had  no 
fear  of  any  sudden  surprise.  The  quietness  of  a  mind 
waiting  for  its  eternal  rest  was  not  now  to  be  disturbed 
by  earthly  feelings  ;  and  I  drew  aside  the  curtains,  and 
told  her  that  Mr.  Malcolm  and  Hester  were  arrived. 
"  Thank  Grod,"  she  said,  and  she  blessed  them  both,  and 
made  them  kiss  her ;  and  then .  she  told  me  to  take  the 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE.  357 

^liild  away,  and  let  her  rest,  and  give  her  some  breakfast. 
We  went  into  the  drawing-room,  and  HTester  lay  down 
upon  the  sofa,  whilst  Betty  made  her  a  cup  of  coffee.  Mr. 
Malcolm  was  a  little  afraid  of  her  being  over-tired  and 
excited ;  but  though  she  cried  a  good  deal  at  first,  she 
soon  became  better,  and  we  sat  by  her  and  talked,  and  my 
dear  mother  joined  us.  It  was  scarcely  pain  then  even 
to  me. 

Aunt  Sarah  sent  for  Mr.  Malcolm,  alone,  about  an 
hour  afterwards ;  and  when  he  came  back  to  us,  he  said, 
that  she  wished  once  more  to  receive  the  Communion  with 
us — the  servants  and  all.  She  would  rather  not  delay ; 
and  she  was  changed,  he  thought,  even  then.  So  we  as- 
sembled in  her  room  ;  but  before  the  service  began  she 
made  Miss  Cole  support  her,  and  sat  up,  and  looked  round 
upon  us  all,  and  told  the  old  servant  to  come  near,  and 
then  she  said,  in  a  voice,  every  word  of  which  was  dis- 
tinct, "  I  am  going  to  die.  I  wish  to  die  in  charity.  I 
forgive  every  one  who  may  have  offended  me,  and  I  pray 
you  all  to  forgive  me  the  things  by  which  I  have  vexed 
you, — especially  my  cross  words  and  cross  looks.  God 
pardon  me,  and  requite  to  you  the  good  deeds  that  you 
have  done  to  me.  Now  let  all  come  and  say  good-bye  to 
me,  and  then  let  me  deliver  up  my  soul  in  peace." 

The  service  was  very  exhausting  to  her,  and  I  scarce- 
ly thought  she  would  bear  it.  She  lay  perfectly  still  af- 
terwards, and  we  sat  in  her  room  all  the  afternoon,  doubt- 
ful whether  she  was  conscious ;  but  about  four  o'clock,  as 
I  stood  by  her,  reading  to  myself  the  Psalms  for  the  day, 
she  pressed  my  hand,  and  called  me  by  name,  and  said, 
"  let  the  commendatory  prayer  be  read."  Mr.  Malcolm 
heard  her,  and  drew  near.  Aunt  Sarah  signed  to  Miss 
Cole,  who  was  at  a  little  distance,  to  come  close  to  her ; 
and  as  we  knelt  down,  one  hand  feebly  grasped  mine, 
whilst  the  other  rested  upon  the  book  which  I  had  laid 
upon  the  hd%. 

Before  the  last  words  of  the  prayer  were  said  she  waa 
gone. 

I  pressed  my  lips  upon  the  cold  forehead,  and  with- 
drew the  prayer-book  from  the  rigid  fingers ;  and  as  I  did 
so  my  eye  fell  upon  the  words,—"  Then  are  they  glad  be- 


358  THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE. 

cause  they  are  at  rest,  and  so  He  bringeth  them  unto  the 
haven  where  they  would  he." 


CHAPTER   XLIII. 

And  here  the  tale  that  I  have  told^ — if  it  were  told  only 
with  the  view  of  exciting  a  momemtary  interest,  might 
well  end.  My  family  dispersed, — Hester  married, — aunt 
Sarah  dead  ; — what  more  can  there  be  to  say  of  the  une- 
ventful life  of  an  old  maid,  condemned  to  poverty,  and,  in 
a  great  measure,  to  loneliness?  Much.  There  lies  the 
error  of  our  frail  judgments.  We  calculate  the  impor- 
tance of  time  by  the  events  which  are  marked  in  the 
world's  calendar.  We  forget  that  there  is  another  marked 
by  God. 

I  was  then  thirty  in  age, — forty  in  appearance  and  in 
feeling;  I  am  now  sixty.  How  did  those  long  years 
1 

The  first  thing  I  could  say  of  them  is,  that  they  were 
not  melancholy, — that  they  were  happier  at  forty  than 
thirty, — happier  at  fifty  than  forty, — happiest  of  all  at 
sixty.  It  is  better  to  be  travelling  towards  age  than  away 
from  youth. 

I  would  also  observe,  that  they  were  not  lonely,  nor 
without  many  pleasurable  interests.  I  do  not  think  I 
deceive  myself  when  I  say  that  each  year  enlarged  my 
sympathies,  made  my  old  friends  dearer,  and  increased  the 
number  of  the  new.  Trials,  indeed,  I  had, — hours  of  de- 
pression, heavy  anxieties,  fretting  cares, — but  life  had 
objects,  hopes,  and  joys,  all  the  safer  and  the  happier, 
because,  in  my  secret  heart,  I  felt  that  they  were  for  others, 
and  not  myself;  that  for  me  there  was  but  one  object, 
one  hope,  one  joy, — that  which  never  could  be  taken  from 
me.  But  I  must  give  the  brief  history  (^  these  years 
more  in  detail. 

My  mother  did  not  follow  Hester  and  her  husband  to 
their  home,  as  many  persons  said  she  would.  She  felt 
strongly  the  desirableness  of  allowing  young  persons  to 
enter  upon  their  married  life  free  and  unfettered ;  and, 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  359 

after  having  so  long  been  accustomed  to  the  independence 
of  her  own  house,  she  feared,  and  I  feared  also,  the  re- 
straint which  must  unavoidably  be  felt  in  the  home  of 
another.  Besides,  although  I  hope  I  should  not  have 
allowed  the  thought  to  interfere  with  her  comfort,  my  life 
would  have  been  very  lonely  without  her,  and  I  could  not 
accompany  her.  It  was  at  one  time  suggested,  that  my 
mother's  little  income,  and  aunt  Sarah's  legacy,  would  be 
suflBcient  for  all  our  expenses,  if  we  lived  with  Hester ; 
but  this  could  only  be  during  my  mother's  lifetime  ;  and 
the  money  was  not  all  my  own.  Joanna  still  had  a  claim 
upon  it ;  and  twenty  pounds  a  year  was  regularly  allowed 
her.  I  felt,  therefore,  that  whilst  health  and  strength 
were  granted  me,  I  was  bound  to  wOrk ;  and  though  I 
urg^d  my  mother  to  consider  well  before  she  refused  to 
agree  to  Hester's  wishes,  I  had  never  any  doubt  what  my 
own  course  must  be. 

And  I  did  not  dread  or  dislike  it.  It  was  fixed  occu- 
pation, and  very  satisfactory.  The  children  improved, 
and  were  becoming  more  and  more  my  companions  when 
I  was  not  actually  engaged  in  teaching  them.  Their 
numbers  also  increased.  There  were  ten  at  last,  and  my 
dear  mother  insisted  upon  helping  me  in  hearing  lessons 
and  reading ;  and  I  saw  that  the  employment  was  very 
good  for  her.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  this  feeling  of  sat- 
isfaction came  at  once.  There  was  a  time, — the  year  which 
followed  Hester's  marriage, — w^ich  I  seldom  allow  myself 
even  now  to  look  back  upon.  It  brings  back  the  heavy 
aching  of  the  heart, — the  longing,  racking  desire  to  recall 
the  voice  silent  in  the  grave, — which  must,  at  times, 
return  till  I  also  am  summoned  to  my  rest.  It  was  an 
anguish  which  came  upon  me  by  degrees.  The  holy  ser- 
vices of  the  Church  could  not  have  been  more  calming 
and  strengthening  than  the  first  remembrance  of  the 
parting  moments  of  the  just.  The  sorrow  grew  after- 
wards. But  for  my  mother's  love  it  seems  as  if  I  never 
could  have  borne  up  against  it,  for  Hester  went  to  her 
new  home,  and  Herbert  was  absent  upon  his  travels ;  and 
for  many  weeks  my  mother  and  I  were  left  with  no  one 
but  Miss  Cole,  to  whom  we  could  look  for  anything  ap- 
proaching to  comfort.     She  was  a  great  help  to  us,  from 


360  THE    EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE. 

the  very  fact  of  requiring  so  much  support  herself.  She 
settled  in  Garsdale,  and  tried  to  continue  her  work  amongst 
the  poor ;  and  I  assisted  her  as  much  as  I  could  by 
advice  and  sympathy,  and  occasionally  some  personal 
help.  But  it  was  labour  carried  on  with  very  painful 
feelings ;  and  I  doubt  if  she  could  have  made  up  her 
mind  to  remain,  if  Lady  Emily  Rivers  had  not  eventually 
made  her  her  regular  almoner  for  Fisherton ;  and  then, 
^with  the  knowledge  that  she  was  working,  as  she  had  been 
accustomed  to  do,  for  another,  her  spirits  revived.  To 
talk  to  her  was  my  greatest  relief  for  a  long  time.  My 
mother  and  I  soon  learnt  how  to  bring  her  out ;  and  we 
used  to  sit  for  hours  together  by  the  fireside  on  the  Sun- 
day evenings,  which  she  always  spent  with  us,  listening. to 
her  recollections  of  aunt  Sarah. 

After  that  came  a  brighter  comfort,  for  Lady  Emily 
returned  to  Lowood,  and  my  mother  spared  me  now  and 
then  for  a  few  days  to  stay  there,  whilst  Miss  Cole  re- 
mained with  her.  Lady  Emily  much  wished  my  mother 
to  go  there  herself,  and  occasionally  she  did ;  and  these 
short  holidays  were  times  of  real  enjoyment  to  us  both. 
Sophia  Grant  was  not  at  Lowood  at  first.  She  was  pay- 
ing a  visit  to  some  friends  in  the  north.  We  had  many 
conversations  about  her.  She  was  greatly  changed.  Lady 
Emily. said,  but  good  and  firm-minded  as  ever,  trying  to 
make  her  duties  take  the  place  which  she  now  owned  had 
been  too  much  occupied-  by  afi"ection.  It  was  a  very 
severe  struggle ;  but  Lady  Emily  had  no  doubt  of  the 
issue.  She  would  never  be  what  she  had  been  ;  but  her 
peace  of  mind  must,  by  degrees,  return,  for  she  could  not 
but  see  that  a  man  who  had  acted  like  Mr.  Beresford 
could  never  have  made  her  happy.  Of  him  Lady  Emily 
spoke  less  cheerfully.  He  had  quite  given  up  all  hope, 
she  said,  of  replacing  himself  in  his  former  position,  and, 
indeed,  he  felt,  as  every  one  who  knew  Sophia  must  feel, 
that  it  was  to  desire  an  impossibility.  But  the  knowledge 
of  this  had  tended  to  make  him  reckless  and  cynical. 
The  good  points  of  his  character,  which  his  intercourse 
with  Sophia  had  brought  out  and  strengthened,  were,  she 
feared,  lowering  under  the  influence  of  frivolous,  fashion- 
able society.     He  said  he  should  never  marry ;  but  Lady 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE.  361 

Emily  told  me  she  was  convinced  he  would,  and  that  her 
daily  anxiety  was,  lest  he  might  throw  himself  away  upon 
some  person  who  would  care  only  for  his  fortune,  and  ren- 
der him  miserable.  It  was  a  fear  too  soon  verified.  In 
three  years  time  Mr.  Beresford  was  married  to  a  person 
whose  face  was  her  only  recommendation,  and  who  taught 
him  to  repent,  through  years  of  domestic  wretchedness, 
the  folly  which  had  made  him  cast  away  the  dearest  trea- 
sure of  his  life. 

Sophia  also  married,  and  very  happily,  but  not  till  she 
was  more  than  thirty.  Her  husband  and  herself  met 
upon  equal  terms  ;  both  had  known  a  more  exciting  feel- 
ing,— ^both  had  been  disappointed  in  it.  The  knowledge 
of  this  fact  was  the  first  chord  of  sympathy  which  was 
touched.  I  saw  her  again  in  after  years,  cheerful  and  con- 
tented ;  but  something  had  passed  from  her  countenance 
which  could  never  be  recalled"  not  youth, — not  hope, — 
but  the  glad  look  of  unshaken  trust,  which  had  once  given 
it  such  a  perfect  expression  of  repose. 

And  East  Side, — my  uncle  and  Horatia !  Persons 
who  had  exercised  so  great  an  influence  over  my  life, 
could  not,  it  might  be  imagined,  suddenly  become  nothing 
to  me.  They  did  not.  _  When  I  look  back  upon  the 
years  which  I  spent  in  Carsdale,  Horatia's  impertinent 
attentions  and  interferences  stand  forth  amongst  my  great- 
est annoyances.  I  do  not  think  I  ought  to  call  them 
more  ;  for,  in  fact,  my  mother  and  I  were  not  in  a  position 
to  feel  them  deeply.  Persons  who  wish  for  nothing  be- 
yond their  own  position,  cannot  very  easily  be  patronised  ; 
and  it  was  by  patronising  that  Horatia  made  herself  most 
disagreeable.  If  we  had  visited  much,  and  tried  to  vie 
with  our  neighbours,  our  pride  would  have  been  perpetu- 
ally wounded  by  Horatia's  bad  taste,  and  my  uncle's 
obtrusive  favours ;  but  society,  in  its  ordinary  sense,  was 
nothing  to  us.  We  did  not  go  out ;  it  was  a  matter, 
therefore,  of  indifference  to  us  whether  we  received  invi- 
tations or  not.  The  idea  of  what  was  thought  or  said  of 
us  never  disturbed  our  quiet,  comfortable  evenings.  If 
we  were  neglected,  we  did  not  perceive  it ;  but,  in  fact, 
we  were  not  neglected.  It  is  a  truth  which'  one  learns  as 
one  goes  on  in  life,  that  if  persons  act  so  as  to  obtain 
16 


362  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

respect,  it  will,  in  the  end,  be  accorded  them.  Those 
who  measured  their  civilities  to  their  neighbours  by  the 
extent  of  their  grounds,  the  size  of  their  rooms,  and  the 
number  of  their  servants,  of  course,  looked  down  upon  us ; 
but  the  idea  of  such  contempt  was  not  very  afflicting,  and 
there  were  but  few  such  persons  in  or  near  Carsdale.  For 
the  most  part,  the  friends  we  knew  there  were  quiet, 
sober-minded  people,  who  had  been  acquainted  with  us 
and  our  family  for  years,  and  liked  us  for  our  own  sakes, 
and  never  troubled  themselves  whether  we  had  a  fortune 
or  worked  for  it,  except  that  they  were  sorry  for  us. 

Indeed,  under  any  circumstances,  I  doubt  if  it  would 
have  been  possible  to  show  disrespect  to  my  mother  ;  or, 
if  it  were  once  attempted,  I  am  convinced  the  rudeness 
would  never  have  been  repeated  a  second  time.  Her  dig- 
nified, self-possessed,  gentle  courtesy,  inspired  reverence 
even  in  Horatia's  mind ;  she  often  used  to  say  to  me  that 
my  mother  put  her  upon  her  best  behaviour ;  and  my  opin- 
ion of  my  mother's  influence  rose  a  hundred  degrees  in 
consequence,  for  I  did  not  think  there  was  another  woman 
in  England  ivho  could  have  obtained  a  similar  power. 

Years,  no  doubt,  exaggerated  us  all  in  equal  propor- 
tions ;  but  the  strong  characteristics  of  Horatia's  charac- 
ter became  unquestionably  painfully  glaring  to  me  as 
time  went  on.  I  believe  she  was,  in  her  own  sense  of 
the  word,  happy.  She  liked  governing,  and  she  did 
govern ;  she  liked  show,  and  noise,  and  business,  and  she 
was  surrounded  by  them.  It  seems  a  mistake  to  think 
that  persons  who  act  from  false  principles  are  necessarily 
punished  in  the  course  of  this  world's  Providence.  The 
Bible  tells  us  it  is  not  so  ;  and  the  difficulties  which  per- 
plexed the  mind  of  Job  will  still,  we  may  believe,  prove 
an  exercise  of  faith  to  the  end  of  time.  Horatia  would 
have  been  a  stumbling-block  to  me,  if  I  had  looked  at  her 
with  the  outward  eye  of  sense.  She  was  an  instance  of 
selfish  and  unjust  prosperity.  But  we  travelled  on 
swiftly,  side  by  side,  towards  the  same  dark  goal,  and, 
as  we  neared  it,  I  learnt  to  pray  for,  rather  than  to  be 
angry  with  her. 

My  uncle  was  not  so  easy  in  his  new  position.  His 
personal  comfort  was  interfered  with ;   he  was  growing 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  363 

old ;  his  wife's  parties  and  engagements  did  not  suit  him ; 
and  he  clung  still  more  to  business,  and  threw  his  heart 
more  and  more  into  the  acquisition  of  wealth.  With 
that  sordid  object  came  increasing  labour,  and  envy,  and 
haunting  fears  ;  and  his  face  shrivelled  with  care ;  and 
his  eyes  grew  dim  with  pondering  over  accounts ;  and  his 
step  was  feeble,  as  under  the  pressure  of  a  heavy  burden ; 
and  when  he  would  fain  have  checked  Horatia's  course, 
and  made  her  his  own  companion,  he  found  that  the  will 
of  the  strong  woman,  in  the  prime  of  life,  was  more  pow- 
erful than  that  of  the  old  man  creeping  into  his  grave ; 
and  when  she  would  not  turn  with  him,  he  moved  aside 
from  her  path,  and  pursued  his  desolate  journey  alone  to 
the  land  where  his  riches  could  not  follow  him. 

I  pitied  him  from  my  hearty  for  the  dreariness  of  this 
world, — the  hopelessness  of  another.  I  could  have  com- 
forted him,  almost  have  loved  him,  if  he  would  have  per- 
mitted it ;  for  he  was  my  father's  brother,  and  his  words 
and  tones  often  brought  back  a  torrent  of  early  remem- 
brances and  fond  associations.  But  we  saw  little  of  him ; 
he  shrank  from  us,  and  we  had  but  slight  temptation  to 
go  to  him.  East  Side  was  not  near  enough  to  be  within 
a  walk,  and  Horatia's  loud  words  of  invitation  were 
spoken  in  the  presence  of  others,  when  it  suited  her  to 
appear  thoughtful,  but  could  never  have  been  intended  to 
be  accepted,  as  she  happily  never  gave  us  the  opportunity 
of  accepting  them. 

I  say  happily,  for  I  can  imagine  few  things  more  pain- 
ful than  to  have  seen  my  mother  a  visitor,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, at  East  Side. 

And  so  time  glided  on  quickly,  and  not  unhappily ; 
and  my  mother  and  I  bore  willingly  the  restraint  of  our 
daily  life  at  Carsdale,  for  the  prospect  of  the  summer  and 
the  Christmas  holidays,  with  Mr.  Malcolm  and  Hester, 
at  Leigh.  The  village  was  about  sixty  miles  from  us, 
an  easy  journey  by  a  stage  coach  in  those  days,  now 
merely  the  distance  of  betweea  two  and  three  hours  by 
the  railway.  We  did  not  see  them  often  in  Carsdale,  but 
the  weeks  we  spent" with  them  were  a  refreshment  for  the 
whole  year.  Hester  was  very  happy,  and  my  old  maid's 
theory  of  the  blessings  of  single  life  was  rather  shaken 


364  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

when  I  looked  at  her ;  but  then  the  case  was  an  except 
tion.  A  second  Mr.  Malcolm  was  not  likely  to  be  found, 
and  a  second  Hester,  I  was  quite  sure,  there  could  not 
be.  Even  her  five  children,  lovely  and  good  as  they  were^ 
never  quite  came  up  to  my  impression  of  what  their  sweet 
mother  had  been  at  their  age.  It  was  very  pleasant  to 
watch  the  influence  which  Mr.  Malcolm  had  upon  the 
neighbouring  clergy,  how  he  raised  the  standard  of  duty, 
encouraged  them  to  work,  brought  them  by  degrees  to  see 
the  value  of  customs  full  of  meaning,  which  had  fallen 
into  disuse.  Even  at  Carsdale  we  felt  the  benefit  of  his 
character,  long  after  he  had  left  the  town.  The  plans 
which  he  had  set  on  foot  were  carried  on  after  he  was 
gone  ;  and  when  old  Mr.  Benson  died,  his  successor  pur- 
sued the  same  work  with  zeal  and  devotion.  It  was  a 
very  different  place  at  last  from  what  it  had  been  in  the 
days  when  aunt  Sarah  was  appealed  to  as  the  person  who 
knew  most  about  the  condition  of  the  poor.  Miss  Cole 
and  I  used  often  to  say,  that  it  was  well  for  us  that  we 
had  now  a  clergyman  to  appeal  to,  who  would  direct  our 
work ;  for  if  left  to  ourselves,  with  little  time,  and  no 
money,  and  but  slight  confidence  in  our  own  judgments, 
it  would  have  been  very  uphill  labour.  The  rector  and 
his  wife  were  great  friends  of  ours,  and  their  society  made 
Carsdale  really  agreeable  to  us. 

The  darkest  spot  in  our  horizon  in  those  days  was 
London. 

Yaughan's  health  was  a  great  anxiety  for  a  long  time ; 
there  were  signs  of  its  giving  way  which  we  could  not  ac- 
count for.  He  had  lived  an  indolent  but  not  a  dissipated 
life,  and  there  was  no  exact  cause,  which  we  could  see,  for 
the  symptoms  which  showed  themselves,  except  the  weak- 
ness left  by  a  fever  which  attacked  him  about  five  years 
after  Hester's  marriage.  My  mother  and  I  went  with 
him  to  the  sea-side  one  summer,  instead  of  spending  the 
holidays  at  Leigh :  for  the  time  he  rallied,  but  the  bad 
symptoms  returned  agaid';  and,  at  length,  we  were  so 
anxious  about  him,  that  we  took  a .  lodging  for  him  in 
Carsdale,  in  order  to  be  near  him  and  nurse  him.  All 
these  arrangements  were  expensive  and  troublesome ;  for 
Vaughan  had  never  worked  hard,  or  made  the  most  of  his 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE.  365 

advantages,  and  the  small  sum  lie  had  put  by  was  soon  ex* 
hausted.  But  events  were  then,  as  ever,  most  mercifully 
ordered.  I  look  back  upon  his  illness  with  great  thank- 
fulness, trying  though  it  was  at  the  time.  It  brought  us 
near  to  him  in  a  way  which  could  scarcely  have  been  pos- 
sible at  any  other  time,  and  gave  us  great  influence  over 
him  ;  and  when,  at  length,  he  was  ordered,  if  possible  to 
seek  another  climate,  and  left  England  to  settle  in  Austra- 
lia, we  parted  from  him  with  the  hope  which  makes  all 
earthly  separation  comparatively  light.  He  went  as  agent 
for  Mr.  Blair,  who  had  land  in  Australia,  and  wanted  some 
one  to  superintend  the  business  connected  with  it.  The 
employment  was  not  what  Vaughan  liked,  but  the  change 
gave  him  the  probability  of  regaining  his  health  ;  and 
after  he  had  been  in  the  colony  a  few  years,  he  was  en- 
abled to  marry,  and  this  reconciled  him  to  his  lot,  and  the 
letters  we  received  from  him  were  cheerful  and  satisfac- 
tory. 

There  was  an  idea,  at  one  time,  of  his  taking  Joanna 
with  him.  He  thought  himself  that  she  would  have  been 
a  comfort  to  him  as  a  companion ;  but  life  in  the  bush  had 
no  charms  for  her,  and  she  peremptorily  refused.  Yet  her 
existence  in  Harley-street  was  actually  wretched.  I  sel- 
dom went  there ;  but  when  I  did,  it  was  mournful  to  me 
to  see  what  she  was  becoming.  Caroline's  children  were 
growing  up,  and  about  to  be  taken  into  society,  and  Joanna 
naturally  was  thrown  more  and  more  into  the  back-ground, 
and  her  efforts  to  keep  her  place  and  appear  young,  were 
distressing  to  her  friends,  and  absurd  to  her  acquaintances. 
She  still  believed,  as  in  her  early  days,  that  every  one  who 
saw  her,  must  admire  her,  and  her  matrimonial  projects 
were  the  talk  of  the  whole  house.  Again  and  again  1 
urged  that  she  should  come  back  to  Carsdale,  and 
live  a  life  of  independence  and  self-respect ;  but  the 
habit  of  mind  was  unalterable.  Her  health  sank  com- 
paratively early  in  life,  in  consequence  of  her  own  impru- 
dence ;  and  some  of  the  saddest  tears  which  ever  fell  from 
my  eyes,  though  they  were  not  unmixed  with  comfort 
were  shed  over  the  lingering  sick-bed  of  my  once  beau- 
tiful sister.  She  died  when  she  was  about  five  and  forty 
years  old. 


366  THE   EXPERIENCE    OF    LITE. 

To  Caroline  and  Reginald  years  have  brought  fe^ 
changes,  except  those  connected  with  the  ordinary  cares 
of  a  family.  I  could  have  prayed  that  it  might  be  other- 
wise, if  so,  the  thick  incrustation  of  worldliness,  which  has 
covered  all  the  better  impulses  of  the  heart,  might  have 
been  broken  through.  But  the  trial  which  ends  in  blessing 
may  still  be  to  come.  The  children,  brought  up  to  think 
so  much  of  the  importance  of  success  in  the  world,  have 
been  the  first  to  throw  away  their  advantages,  and  in  the 
far  distance  I  see  lowering  clouds  of  disappointment. 

They  cause  pain  and  fear  in  thinking  of  them  before- 
hand ;  but  if  the  storm  should  burst,  there  is  still  the  hope 
that  the  stony  ground  may  be  softened  by  the  showers 
which  accompany  it. 

Herbert  is  the  only  one  whom  it  remains  to  mention. 
His  career  has  been  singularly  fortunate.  His  good  sense 
and  sterling  high  principles  gained  the  affection  and  es- 
teem of  his  pupil,  and  gave  him  a  claim  upon  the  parents, 
which  they  were  not  slow  to  acknowledge.  He  was 
abroad  about  three  years,  and  on  his  return  a  situation 
was  procured  for  him  in  one  of  the  government  ojQ&ces. 
He  has  since  risen  higher  ;  but  worldly  success  has  not 
injured  him.  He  is  still  the  sincere,  humble-minded, 
energetic  person  that  he  was  when,  as  a  boy,  he  accepted 
the  drudging  occupation  placed  before  him,  and  threw  his 
mind  into  it,  without  a  doubt  that  if  the  fir^t  step  was 
right,  the  second  would  be  happy.  He  also  is  married. 
His  wife  is  Mr.  Malcolm's  sister ;  and  if  any  could  rival 
Hester  in  my  affections,  it  would  be  my  sister-in-law. 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

And  so  farewell  to  my  family.     But  a  few  more  words 
must  be  bestowed  upon  myself 

I  had  lived  with  my  mother  at  Carsdale  about  four- 
teen years,  our  life  being  very  much  what  I  have  described, 
— occupied,  cheerful,  and  hopeful,  without  any  alarming 
incidents  to  disturb  it.  My  uncle  and  Horatia,  also, 
were  pursuing  their  ordinary  course,  but  with  less  cheer- 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  367 

fulness,  and  less  hope ;  for  my  uncle's  nervousness  and 
fidgetty  temper  were  making  great  inroads  upon  their 
domestic  peace,  and  even  upon  his  health.  We  were  told 
that  he  fretted  the  clerks  at  the  Bank  so,  that  they  could 
scarcely  be  persuaded  to  retain  their  situations ;  and  Ho- 
ratia  complained  bitterly  that  her  plans  were  interfered 
with,  and  all  her  arrangements  set  aside,  by  his  uncon- 
trollable anxiety  respecting  his  affairs.  He  would  be  at 
the  Bank  at  an  unconscionably  early  hour,  and  insist  upon 
remaining  till  every  one  was  worn  out ;  and  this  withoTll  any 
pretence  at  necessity.  It  was  the  goading  desire  for  the 
accumulation  of  riches,  hunting  him,  as  it  were,  to  his 
grave.  Poratia  said,  openly,  that  no  one  could  live  the 
life  he  did  and  not  suffer  for  it ;  and  she  was  sure  he 
would^suddenly  give  way,  both  in  mind  and  body.  There 
certainly  seemed  cause  for  fear  when  one  looked  at  his 
face ;  but  there  were  no  signs  of  decay  in  the  intellect. 
Persons  who  transacted  business  with  him  said  that  his 
perceptions  were  as  kgen  as  they  had  been  twenty  years 
before.  Care  seemed  his  only  mania, — care  which  never 
for  a  moment  left  him.  He  said,  at  last,  that  East  Side  was 
too  far  away  from  the  town,  and  that  he  lost  time  in  going 
in  and  out ;  and  he  tried  to  persuade  Horatia  to  give  up 
the  place,  and  remove  to  the  old  house  near  the  Bank. 
There  was  a  great  dispute  between  them  on  the  subject, 
which  ended  in  a  compromise.  Horatia  agreed  to  stay 
with  him  in  Carsdale  on  the  week  days,  on  condition  of 
spending  every  Sunday  at  East  Side  ;  and  so  it  was  set- 
tled, and  the  old  house  was  made  habitable,  and  my  uncle 
took  possession  of  it. 

He  became  quieter  in  temper  then,  for  he  felt,  I  ima- 
gine, more  at  home,  and  in  his  element,  in  the  rambling, 
dreary,  wainscoted  rooms,  than  amidst  the  elegance  of 
East  Side  ;  but  he  grew  very  feeble,  and,  at  length,  instead 
of  going  to  his  oOlgo  at  the  Bank,  he  was  obliged  to  re- 
main in  his  study  at  the  house. 

There  was  soon  no  idea  of  his  going  into  the  country 
even  once  a  week.  He  was  about  to  die  ; — all  saw  it. 
Did  he  see  it  himself?  I  asked  myself  the  question  often  ; 
for,  at  last,  I  saw  a  good  deal  of  him.  Horatia  declared 
that  she  was  obliged  to  look  after  the  state  of  affairs  at 


368  THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE. 

East  Side,  and  she  spent  her  time  in  driving  in  and  out, 
and  now  and  then  she  even  slept  there.  She  was  willing 
enough  that  my  mother  and  I  should  be  with  my  uncle, 
for  it  eased  her  conscience  ;  and  she  had  a  conscience, — a- 
curious  one, — measured  by  the  world's  opinion,  but  still 
sufficient  to  make  her  uncomfortable  when  she  quite  neg- 
lected her  husband. 

It  was  very  unsatisfactory  to  be  with  him.  I  never 
felt  we  were  any  use.  Business  and  caiCulations  were  al- 
ways^oing  on,  though  he  was  so  weak  that  we  did  not 
like  to-leave  him  without  some  one  sitting  in  the  room. 
He  said  very  little  to  us,  and  that  little  was  often  very  ir- 
ritable, especially  to  me,  and  in  certain  moods.  But  there 
were  times  when  he  seemed  softened  ;  and  then  there 
was  something  painful  to  me  in  the  way  he  would  beg  my 
pardon  for  having  given  me  trouble,  and  speak  as  if  lie  felt 
he  was  indebted  to  me  in  some  peculiar  way,  and  wished 
to  make  amends.  I  did  not  notice  this  manner  much  for 
some  time  ;  but  one  day  I  remember  it  struck  me  particu- 
larly. He  retained  my  hand,  and  looked  at  ilie  with  such  a 
sharp,  steadfast  gaze,  after  I  had  been  doing  him  some 
trifling  act  of  kindness.  I  thought,  for  the  moment,  he 
was  going  to  say  something  of  importance,  but  he  let  my 
hand  drop  again,  and  sighed, — almost  groaned,  and  then 
he  went  back  again  to  his  papers. 

Horatia's  good  will,  I  saw,  did  not  increase  towards 
me,  though  she  did  throw  upon  me  a  good  deal  of  the 
trouble  of  nursing ;  and,  latterly,  her  manner  to  my  uncle 
became  imperious,  so  that,  at  length,  I  fancied  he  seemed 
actually  afraid  of  her. 

The  physician  often  talked  to  him  of  the  duty  of 
giving  himself  rest,  and  he  was  told  again  and  again,  that 
the  business  would  go  on  without  him  ;  but  he  would  not 
listen  to  any  remonstrance,  until  one  day  when  he  had  an 
attack  of  giddiness,  and  then  he  was  forced  to  give  up 
work,  though,  as  he  still  said,  only  for  a  little  time.  It 
was  very  cold  weather  then,  and  his  study  was  towards  the 
cast ;  and  it  was  suggested  that  the  south  rooms,  which 
my  grandfather  had  inhabited,  should  be  fitted  up  for  him. 
He  rather  fancied  the  change  himself,  and  Horatia  entered 
into  the  idea^  and  took  some  pains  to  make  them  cheerful 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  369 

and  habitable ;  but  at  the  time  when  she  thus  became 
more  attentive  to  him  she  grew  more  unkind  in  her  man- 
ner to  me,  and  put  many  obstacles  in  my  way  when  I 
wished  to  see  my  uncle. 

I  went  to  Lowood  two  days  before  my  uncle  removed 
to  the  south  rooms  ;  and  on  my  return  on  the  Monday 
morning,  I  found  a  message  begging  that  I  would  instantly 
go  and  see  him.  It  was  a  verbal  message,  given  by  a 
little  boy  who  went  on  errands  for  the  Bank.  This  did 
not  surprise  me,  for  my  uncle  could  not  well  write,  and 
Horatia  was  not  likely  to  take  the  trouble  ;  so  I  begged 
my  mother  to  begin  the  children's  lessons  for  me,  and 
went  directly  to  the  Bank.  The  part  of  the  house  which 
my  uncle  then  occupied  was  separated  from  the  usual  liv- 
ing rooms,  and  I  was  a  little  puzzled  to  make  my  way  to 
them,  and  went  up  by  a  wrong  staircase  ;  but,  after  going 
through  a  long  passage,  I  found  myself  in  the  lobby,  where 
I  so  well  remembered  to  have  stood  on  the  day  of  my 
grandfather's  death.  I  waited  there  for  a  minute  looking 
round,  to  be  quite  sure  that  I  was  right,  and  just  then  I 
heard  Horatia  talking  to  some  one  in  the  little  hall  below, 
which  adjoined  the  garden.  I  heard  her  say,  in  an  eager 
angry  voice, "  I  must  know  directly  she  comes  ^  "  and 
thinking  she  might  be  speaking  of  me,  I  was  goifcg  to  let 
her  know  I  was  there,  when  a  girl,  who  had  lately  been 
hired  to  attend  upon  my  uncle,  came  up  to  me,  and  begged 
me  to  follow  her.  She  spoke  rather  mysteriously  in  a  low 
voice  ;  but  I  thought  it  was  only  shyness,  and  I  followed 
her  through  the  bed-room, — unchanged  in  appearance  dur- 
ing those  many  years, — into  the  inner  room. 

It  was  a  large,  cheerful  apartment,  wainscoted  with 
oak,  and  the  ceiling  covered  with  stucco  ornaments.  The 
windows  looked  into  the  garden,  and  the  bright  sunshine 
which  streamed  through  them  gave  a  glow  that  made  the 
blazing  fire  upon  the  hearth  appear  scarcely  necessary,  even 
on  that  wintry  morning.  Flies  were  buzzing  in  the  win- 
dow, and  a  canary,  in  a  large  cage,  was  hopping  about 
gaily  on  its  perch,  whilst  a  tortoiseshell  cat  was  warming 
itself  luxuriously  upon  the  hearth-rug.  And  there  in  the 
midst  of  life,  sat  my  uncle  in  a  heavy  arm-chair,  Cnly  one 
third  of  which  he  seemed  to  fill,  so  much  was  he  shrunk 
16* 


370  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE. 

from  his  natural  size.  He  wore  a  large,  flowered  dressing 
gown,  and  a  black  skull  cap  upon  bis  bead,  making  a 
gbastly  contrast  with  Ms  witbered  face.  On  tbe  table  lay 
piles  of  ledgers,  papers,  books  bound  in  calf,  packets  of 
letters, — all  the  usual  signs  of  business  ;  but  he  was  not 
occupied  with  them.  A  large  Bible  was  open  before  him, 
and  he  was  bending  down  over  it,  with  one  hand  turning 
the  pages,  and  the  other  grasping  a  book  of  accounts. 
He  was  muttering  something  to  himself,  and  as  I  stole 
quietly  into  the  room,  I  caught  the  words,  "  There  be  some 
that  put  their  trust  in  their  goods,  and  boast  themselves 
in  the  multitude  of  their  riches,  but  no  man  may  deliver 
his  brother,  or  make  agreement  unto  God  for  him.  For  it 
cost  more  to  redeem  their  souls,  so  that  he  must  let  that 
alone  for  ever."  He  shuddered,  and  looked  up  ;  but  when 
he  saw  me,  something  of  the  old  bland  smile  came  over 
his  face,  and  he  bade  me  welcome,  and  motioned  to  the  girl 
to  go  away,  telling  her  to  watch  in  the  outer  room,  and 
not  let  any  one  enter.  I  closed  the  door  after  her,  and 
returned,  and  drew  a  chair  near  him,  and  asked  him  how 
he  felt.  Well  enough,  he  said,  but  worried  with  business. 
Things  went  differently  now,  from  what  they  did  in  former 
days  ;  but  he  would  put  it  all  right  soon.  I  looked  at 
the  Bible,  and  observed  that  it  must  be  a  comfort  to  him 
to  be  able  to  read,  and  turn  his  thoughts  to  other  things. 
He  stared  at  me,  and  then  the  same  shudder  crept  over 
him,  and  he  looked  down  upon  the  book,  and  said  there 
were  many  things  to  be  learnt  from  it,  but  there  was  lit- 
tle time  to  study  it.  "  Only  now,"  I  said,  "  in  illness." 
"  Illness  !  "  he  repeated  the  words  after  me  impatiently  ; 
"  he  had  had  a  littje  something  amiss,  not  enough  to  be 
called  illness ;  but  he  liked  to  have  things  orderly,  so  he 
had  been  looking  into  his  affairs."  "  Yes,"  I  said,  "  it  is 
well  for  us  all  to  be  prepared, — the  young  as  well  as  the 
old."  "  Certainly,  certainly,  the  young  as  well  as  the  old," 
and  he  stooped  down  to  search  for  something  amongst  the 
papers.  I  moved  the  book  from  him,  and  then  I  looked 
again  at  the  Bible,  and  said,  "  that  is  a  beautiful  Psalm 
you  were  reading,"  and  I  repeated,  as  if  reading  to  my- 
self, "  he  shall  carry  nothing  away  with  him  when  he  dieth, 
neither  shall  his  pomp  follow  him."     His  hand  trembled 


THE   EXPERIENCE   OP   LIPE.  37* 

violently,  and  in  an  impatient  tone  he  ordered  me  to  move 
the  books  to  another  table.  A  pocket-book  lay  under- 
neath thepa.  He  tried  to  unclasp  it,  looking  round  at  the 
same  time  suspiciously.  The  clasp  was  not  very  easily 
unfastened,  or,  at  least,  he  had  not  the  strength  required, 
and  he  put  it  into  my  hands,  and  just  then  there  was  a 
little  noise  at  the  door,  which  made  him  shake  like  an 
aspen  leaf,  and  he  said,  "  Quick,  quick  ;"  but  he  would  not 
let  me  move.  When  I  gave  him  the  open  book,  he  took 
out  from  it  a  bank  note,  and  put  it  into  my  hands,  and 
bending  his  head  close  to  mine,  said,  in  a  thrilling  whisper, 
"  It  is  for  you, — a  present." 

It  was  a  bank  bill  for  five  thousand  pounds  ! 

My  first  thought  was  that  he  had  lost  his  senses  ;  but 
he  grasped  my  hand,  and  repeated  again,  "  A  present, — 
mind,  it's  a  present ;  you  are  my  niece,  and  I  choose  to 
make  it.  Not  that  you  have  a  claim, — no  right,  remem- 
ber— ^but  a  present;  only  don't  tell  it, — don't  tell  it." 
Again  he  looked  round  at  the  door.  "  Doesn't  it  say, 
*they  boast  themselves  in  the  multitude  of  their  riches,'" 
he  added,  and  the  faint  attempt  at  a  laugh  which  accom- 
panied the  words  made  my  blood  curdle  ;  "  but  that  can't 
be  said  of  me,  for  if  I  give  away  so  much,  I  shall  have 
none  left.     But  it's  my  will, — a  present  to  you,  niece." 

I  held  the  paper  in  my  hand,  bewildered  and  fright- 
ened, for  I  still  thought  his  senses  were  wandering  ;  and 
at  that  moment  Horatia's  voice  was  heard,  loudly  insisting 
upon  admittance  into  the  ante-room. 

"  Hide  it !"  said  my  uncle,  hurriedly,  "  say  nothing ; 
don't  use  it  till  I  tell  you  you  may."  But  the  bank  bill 
remained  open  in  my  hand,  for  my  spirit  rebelled  at  the 
idea  of  concealment.  We  heard  the  outer  door  unfast- 
ened, and  the  next  minute  Horatia  entered. 

Most  sad  and  humiliating  was  the  scene  which  fol- 
lowed,— humiliating  even  to  myself ;  though  I  felt  that 
the  act  by  which  I  was  thus  benefited  was  but  a  late  res- 
titution after  years  of  grasping  selfishness.  Horatia  came 
up  to  me,  her  eyes  flashing,  yet  evidently  exercising  con- 
siderable self-control.  She  wished,  she  said,  to  know 
why  it  was  that  she  was  excluded  from  her  husband's 
room.  My  uncle  interrupted  me  before  I  could  reply. 
"Only  just  for  a  minute,  my  dear;  sit  down  will  you? 


372  THE   EXPERIENCE   OF   LIFE. 

You  flurry  me, — I  can't  bear  it."  She  sat  down,  fixing 
her  eyes  upon  the  paper  which  I  held.  "I  had  a  little 
private  business  with  my  niece,  that  was  all.  It  is  over 
now, — she  is  going  home.  It's  all  settled,  Sarah,  quite 
right.  His  voice  was  very  tremulous,  and  1  saw  that  his 
hand  was  still  laid  upon  the  Bible,  as  if  the  very  act  of 
handling  it  would  give  him  strength. 

"  Private  business ! "  said  Horatia,  bitterly  ;  "  doubt- 
less, Sarah,  it  has  ended  satisfactorily."  "  I  must  tell 
you  its  nature,"  I  began ;  but  my  uncle  seized  me  with  an 
eager,  even  a  fierce  grasp.  "  Go,  child,  leave  us  together, 
I  must  talk  to  her."  "  Yes,  go  !"  exclaimed  Horatia, — 
the  scornfulness  of  her  tone  excited  every  indignant  feel- 
ing in  my  breast, — "  You  have  what  you  have  plotted  for : 
go,  with  the  pitiful  gain  extorted  from  an  old  man's  weak- 
ness ! " 

My  uncle  motioned  me  to  the  door  imploringly ;  but 
I  stood  firm.  "  Horatia,"  I  said,  "  there  shall  be  no  mis- 
take in  this  matter.  I  have  received  that  which  I  never  ex- 
pected— which  I  never  asked  for.  Whether  it  is  a  free 
gift,  or  an  act  of  restitution,  God  only  knows.  Whatever 
it  may  be,  I  am  deeply  grateful ;  but  I  will  never  be  ac- 
cused of  acting  dishonourably.  Before  I  leave  this  room, 
I  will  have  a  witness  to  the  gift,  whose  testimony  cannot 
be  disputed."  As  I  turned  to  ring  the  bell,  Horatia 
made  a  sudden  movement  to  stop  me  ;  but  she  checked 
herself  and  sat  down,  rigid  and  pale.  My  uncle  rocked 
himself  backwards  and  forwards  in  his  chair,  gazing  at  her 
with  an  eye  of  fear. 

The  bell  was  answered  by  the  man-servant ;  he  stood 
at  the  door,  waiting  for  orders.  A  mocking  smile  crossed 
Horatia's  face.  "  You  will  be  satisfied,  I  suppose,"  she 
said,  "  when  you  have  made  the  afiairs  of  your  family  the 
subject  of  conversation  to  the  town."  I  shall  be  satis- 
fied," I  replied,  "  when  I  have  done  what  I  believe  to  be 
due  to  myself"  And  I  put  into  the  man's  hand  a  note 
which  I  had  written  to  the  rector  of  Carsdale. 

When  he  left  the  room,  Horatia  started  up ;  a  fearful 
frown  contracted  her  forehead.  She  walked  slowly  up  to 
my  uncle.  "  Remember,"  she  said,  "  I  warned  you."  The 
poor  old  man  trembled,  and  I  saw  tears  gather  in  hia 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  373 

eyes.  "  The  thought  haunted  me  "  he  murmured.  "And 
it  shall  haunt  you,"  she  exclaimed,  with  an  intensity  of 
passion,  the  more  terrible  from  her  strange,  but  habitual 
self-control.  "  It  shall  follow  you  even  to  your  grave, 
with  the  scorn  of  the  world,  when  they  shall  know  that 
you  had  not  courage  to  keep  your  own  ;  poor,  pitiful,  mis- 
erable man  ! " 

My  uncle  burst  into  tears. 

"  See  to  what  you  reduce  him,"  said  Horatia,  as  she 
stood  by  his  side,  pointing  to  him. 

I  took  no  notice  of  her,  but,  going  up  to  him,  I  kissed 
him,  and  told  him  that  he  had  given  me  comfort  and  ease 
for  life,  and  I  could  never  tell  him  all  my  gratitude. 
"  Hypocrite ! "  murmured  Horatia ;  but  she  did  not  attempt 
to  separate  us,  and  he  held  me  by  my  dress,  and  said, 
"  Don't  leave  me, — ^keep  with  me, — don't  leave  me."  I 
made  him  lean  back  in  his  chair,  and  brought  him  some 
wine,  for  he  was  very  much  exhausted.  Horatia,  with 
her  basilisk  eyes  fixed  on  us,  sat  by,  watching  all  that 
went  on,  and  so  we  remained  in  silence,  watching  for  the 
answer  to  my  note. 

When  the  rector  of  Carsdale  was  announced,  Horatia 
went  into  the  ante-room  to  meet  him.  They  came  into 
the  room  again  together ;  a  half  smile  was  on  Horatia's 
face,  and  its  expression  was  quite  calm.  She  opened  the 
business  herself.  "  It  was  a  mere  matter  of  form,"  she 
said,  "  to  satisfy  a  conscientious  scruple  of  her  dear  cou- 
sin's. Mr.  Mortimer  was  anxious  to  bestow  a  mark  of 
his  affection  upon  his  niece,  and  it  was  thought  desirable, 
as  the  sum  was  large,  that  a  memorandum,  in  the  presence 
of  a  witness,  should  be  made  of  the  gift.  The  rector  of 
Carsdale,  from  his  position,  and,  as  a  personal  friend,  was 
therefore  requested  to  be  present." 

Nothing  could  be  more  simple — more  straightforward. 
I  showed  the  bank  bill, — begged  my  uncle  to  state  that  it 
was  his  free  gift, — and  when  he  had  done  so  emphatically, 
yet  with  a  glance  at  Horatia,  which  I  easily  interpreted, 
Horatia  herself  signed  the  paper  which  was  to  bear  wit- 
ness to  the  fact. ' 

Whether  the  rector  saw  what  was  hidden  beneath  the 
mask  I  could  never  guess.     It  must  have  appeared  a  sin- 


374.  THE    EXPERIENCE   OP   LIFE. 

gular  transaction,  but  I  do  not  think  either  Horatia  or  1 
betrayed  ourselves. 

He  would  have  remained  afterwards  with  my  uncle, 
but  Horatia  interposed,  saying,  that  even  this  slight  busi- 
ness had  been  too  much  for  her  husband.  Tho  rector 
and  I  left  the  bouse  at  the  same  time,  for  it  was  not  in 
my  power  to  remain,  though  there  was  a  touching  look  of 
entreaty  in  my  uncle  when  I  bade  him  good-bye.  AVhat 
passed  when  I  was  gone  is  among  the  secrets  which,  in 
this  world,  can  never  be  known ;'  but  that  night  my  uncle 
had  a  paralytic  stroke,  and  three  days  afterwards  he  was 
dead. 

Horatia  proclaimed  the  kindness  shown  to  me,  and 
the  world  said  that  it  was  to  her  influence  I  was  indebted 
for  it. 

But  I  wish  to  say  no  more  of  her.  At  that  time  our 
paths  in  life  separated,  and  I  scarcely  saw  her  again. 


CHAPTER    XLY. 

Left  with  a  sum  sufficient  to  make  me  independent  and 
to  enable  me  to  restore  aunt  Sarah's  legacy  to  its  original 
purpose,  I  was  naturally  anxious  to  consult  my  mother's 
happiness,  and  remove  from  Carsdale  to  Leigh.  To  be 
near  Hester  and  Mr.  Malcolm  would  be  an  infinite  com- 
fort to  her  in  her  declining  years,  and  I  was  not  sorry 
myself  to  feel  that  after  fourteen  years  of  labour,  and 
more  than  fourteen  of  heavy  anxiety,  I  might  look  for- 
ward to  a  period  of  rest.  Not  that  it  was  entirely  pleas- 
ant to  leave  Carsdale.  I  was  sorry  to  say  good-bye  to 
my  pupils, — sorry  to  break  away  from  long-cherished  as- 
sociations,— most  especially  grieved  to  remove  to  a  dis- 
tance from  Lowood  and  Lady  Emily.  But  there  was  a 
delight  in  the  prospect  of  a  quiet  country  life,  and  the 
society  of  Hester  and  her  husband  and  children,  which 
outweighed  every  other  consideration.  Happily,  I  did 
Hot  make  the  choice  for  my  own  comfort ;  if  left  to  my- 
Belf  I  should  have  questioned  whether,  even  after  so  much 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OF    LIFE.  375 

toll  and  care,  and  with  the  weariness  of  bad  health,  which 
was  returning  upon  me  in  consequence,  I  could  be  at 
liberty  to  give  myself  rest.  My  first  desire,  therefore, 
when  we  talked  of  living  at  Leigh,  was  so  to  arrange  my 
hours  that  I  might  still  feel  myself  usefully  occupied. 
The  parish  was  large,  and  there  was  much  to  do  in  it, 
which  was  a  great  comfort  to  m^.  I  could  not,  indeed, 
walk  far,  or  leave  my  mother  for  any  length  of  time,  but 
I  could  work  in  the  school,  and  have  adult  classes  at  our 
own  house,  and  I  could  assist  Hester  in  educating  her 
children,  and  keep  up  an  interest  in  my  old  pupils,  and 
discipline  my  own  mind  by  study,  as  aunt  Sarah  had  sug- 
gested to  me.  Before  our  house  was  ready  I  had  framed 
for  myself  a  plan  of  life,  which  would  give  me  variety  and 
occupation,  and  the  sense  of  usefulness,  without  which,  af- 
ter the  employment  to  which  I  had  been  accustomed,  I 
could  never  have  been  happy. 

I  looked  forward  to  a  time  of  cheerful  rest,  and  it  has 
been  granted  me.  Sixteen  years  I  have  lived  at  Leigh. 
Few  they  have  seemed,  but  not  evil.  My  dear  mother 
rests  in  her  peaceful  grave.  Time  has  softened  the  an- 
guish of  my  first  loneliness,  and  the  blessing  which  she 
gave  me  on  her  death-bed,  still  lingers  in  my  memory^ 
and  whispers  that  I  have  not  lived  in  vain  ;  and  Hester, 
young  still  in  heart  and  bright  in  hope,  clings  to  me  with 
the  loving  tenderness  of  childhood,  and  her  children 
gather  round  me  and  tell  me  that  their  daily  life  is  glad- 
dened by  mine  ;  and  many  there  are  in  distant  homes  who 
turn  to  me  as  the  friend  to  whom  they  can  confide  their 
cares  and  seek  comfort  in  their  sorrows. 

A  single  life  need  not  be  solitary  and  unblest.  None 
would  say  so  as  they  listen  to  the  joyous  groups  that  often 
collect  round  my  fireside,  when  Hester's  children  or  my 
former  pupils,  or  those  whom  I  have  since  learnt  to  love, 
and  who  "  stand  beside  me  as  my  youth,"  visit  me  in  my 
peaceful  home.  It  is  with  an  indescribable  delight  that 
I  hear  their  ringing  laughter,  their  merry  tales,  their  eager 
hopes  and  fears.  They  give  me  what  I  never  enjoyed  at 
their  age,  for  my  own  young  days  were  early  clouded  with 
anxiety.  I  feel  that  I  have  grown  more  joyous,  more 
childlike,  more  truly  light-hearted ;  for  then  I  too  often 


376  THE    EXPERIENCE    OF   LIFE. 

tried  vainly  to  shut  my  eyes  to  anxiety,  now  I  can  "cast 
all  my  care  upon  Him  who  careth  for  me." 

Alice  Rivers  has  till  within  the  last  few  years  often 
been  my  guest,  recalling  the  image  of  her  mother  ;  but 
she  is  now  married,  and  a  little  grandchild  has  taken  her 
place  in  the  hearts  of  the  family  circle  at  Lowood.  I  fre- 
quently go  there  to  talk  with  Lady  Emily  over  old  times, 
and  hear  the  history  of  my  former  friends  at  Carsdale, 
and  the  details  of  the  Blue  School,  which  still  prospers, 
and  is  likely  to  prosper  for  many  years. 

Lady  Emily  looks  wonderfully  young  still,  but  a  mind 
like  hers  so  early  trained  to  bear  the  trials  of  life,  leaves 
but  little  traces  of  its  working  upon  the  countenance,  and 
her  life  has,  indeed,  upon  the  whole,  been  very  happy. 

Yet  even  of  such  a  lot  I  could  not  feel  a  moment's 
envy.  Doubtless  she  has  experienced  dearer  joys  and 
more  alluring  hopes  for  this  world  than  have  been  granted 
to  me  ;  but  they  are  atoms  only  in  the  immensity  of  an 
eternal  happiness,  and  it  would  be  vain  to  spend  a  thought 
of  regret  upon  the  separate  particles  of  joy,  when  the  Love 
is  offered  us  which  embraces  all. 

And  where  is  my  home,  and  what  is  it  like?  The 
question  might  well  have  been  asked  at  the  commence- 
ment of  my  story,  but  it  may  not  be  unfitly  answered  at 
its  conclusion. 

There  is  a  village  amongst  the  Wiltshire  downs,  lying 
in  a  hollow  below  broad  green  pastures  and  chalky  hills. 
It  has  but  one  long  street,  and  a  few  straggling  cottages 
and  grey  farmhouses,  amongst  gardens  and  trees — happy 
-and  home-like  as  an  oasis  in  the  desert  to  the  traveller 
who  first  looks  upon  them  from  the  heights.  And  near  it 
and  within  it  stand  smooth  stones,  giant  in  size,  and  deep 
and  mysterious  in  their  meaning,  the  relics  of  a  heathen 
worship ;  and  high,  grassy  banks,  upon  which  children 
play,  and  along  which  labo'urers  plod,  without  a  thought 
of  the  history  pictured  before  their  eyes,  mark  the  pre- 
cincts of  those  ancient  temples.  In  the  centre  of  the  vil- 
lage is  the  rectory,  not  looking  towards  the  street,  but 
fronting  a  pleasant  garden  and  green  fields,  across  which 
runs  a  path,  leading  to  a  vast  mound,  said  to  be  the  work 
of  human  hands.     Marvellous  it  is,  even  as  the  mystic 


THE    EXPERIENCE    OP    LIFE.  377 

stones  that  tell  of  the  creed  of  the  generations  gone  by ; 
and  solemn  and  peaceful  are  the  blue  mists  that  rest  upon 
it  in  the  early  morning,  veiling  its  outlines  as  the  shadows 
of  the  past. 

I  have  lingered  at  the  garden  gate  day  after  day,  gaz- 
ing upon  the  old  circular  hill,  and  hearing  no  sound  to 
break  the  stillness  of  the  air,  until  I  could  have  fancied 
that  peace, — the  peace  of  a  world  which  has  never  echoed 
to  the  sound  of  a  human  voice, — the  peace  of  the  spirits 
who  rest  in  hope,  was  lingering  amidst  that  quiet  village. 

But  it  is  in  truth  the  influence  of  the  living  which 
throws  a  calmness  over  Hester's  home.  It  is  her  own 
tranquil  mind,  the  fervent  piety  and  devoted  tenderness 
of  her  husband,  the  warm  endearing  affection  of  her  chil- 
dren, above  all,  the  love  which  springs  upward  to  her  God. 

The  rectory  is  indeed  full  of  repose  to  me  at  all  times. 
The  house  is  not  large,  but  it  is  of  a  sufficient  size  for  real 
comfort,  and  the  family  party  is  generally  small.  Hester's 
sons  are  now  working  for  themselves  in  the  world, — one 
having  lately  taken  orders,  and  the  other  practising  suc- 
cessfully in  the  law.  Her  three  girls,  who  are  much 
younger,  are  just  growing  up  to  be  an  inexpressible  com- 
fort to  their  parents  and  to  me. 

It  has  been  very  interesting  to  me  to  see  how  well  she 
has  managed  them.  Her  husband's  character  has  brought 
out  all  the  energy  of  her  own,  and  her  will  is  law,  a  law 
implicitly  but  cheerfully  obeyed.  She  often  tells  me  that 
she  wishes  she  could  feel  that  she  had  been  as  obedient  to 
her  own  mother,  as  her  children  are  to  her. 

Perhaps  she  was  wilful ;  but  I  have  forgotten  it ;  she 
is  better  in  my  eyes  than  any  that  have  come  after  her,  and 
dearly  I  love  to  trace  the  resemblance  to  her  in  her  own 
Hester's  brilliant  smile,  and  Sarah's  playful  laugh,  and  the 
quick  feeling  of  the  youngest,  Fanny,  my  dear* mother's 
namesake. 

They  are  with  me  daily,  I  might  almost  say  hourly ; 
for  there  is  always  something  to  do  or  to  consult  about, 
which  they  fancy  requires  my  help.  My  cottage  is  close 
to  the  rectory,  close  also  to  the  church,  which  is,  however, 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road.  It  is  low,  and  thatched^ 
covered  with  creepers,  and  standing,  in  a  little  garden,  dot* 


378  THE    EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE. 

ted  with  flower-beds,  which  it  is  the  delight  of  the  school 
children  to  keep  in  order  for  me.  It  contains  two  sitting- 
rooms  and  three  bed-rooms,  all  that  I  can  at  any  time  re- 
quire. I  have  lived  there  ever  since  I  came  to  Leigh,  and 
it  has  become  very  dear  to  me,  for  it  is  my  home,  as  far 
as  regards  this  world,  and  where,  if  it  should  please  God, 
I  trust  still  to  spend  some  happy  years  to  come. 

But  my  real  home  is  the  Church, 

Morning  and  evening  I  go  there  to  join  in  the  public 
worship  of  the  congregation  ;  and  often,  also,  I  steal  into 
it  by  myself,  to  petition  for  my  own  needs,  and  the  needs 
of  those  dear  to  me.  And  it  is  then  that  I  most  feel  how 
little  the  life  of  a  member  of  Christ's  Church  can  ever  be 
called  lonely.  '"  One  Lord,  one  Faith,  one  Baptism,  one 
God  and  Father  of  all," — were  I  without  earthly  friends, 
without  human  relations — could  they  not  all  in  that  life 
be  mine  ? 

Not  each  for  himself,  and  by  himself,  we  travel  towards 
Eternity ;  but  together, — one,  though  many  ; — united, 
though  separate, — ever  living,  though  ever  dying  ; — with 
interests  which  began  with  Creation  and  cannot  cease  with 
Time. 

And  so,  when  I  walk  through  the  churchyard,  and  read 
the  names  of  those  who  rest  within  it,  it  is  with  no  feeling 
of  isolation  or  regret  that  I  look  forward  to  the  time  when 
I  also  shall  be  called  to  deliver  my  body  to  the  dust,  and 
my  spirit  in  the  gladness  of  its  love  "  to  Him  who  gave 
it."  But  as  men,  whilst  mingling  in  the  business  of  the 
world,  occupy  their  leisure  in  choosing  the  homes  where 
they  trust  at  length  to  find  repose ; — so  I  often  gaze  upon 
those  peaceful  resting-places,  and  ponder  where  I  should 
desire  to  sleep. 

There  is  a  sunny  spot  opposite  to  the  south  porch.  It 
is  close  to  the  path  which  leads  from  the  rectory  to  the 
church,  and  we  pass  it  as  we  go  to  the  daily  prayers.  If 
it  should  be  so  permitted,  it  is  there  that  I  would  wish  to 
be  laid. 

It  seems  as  if  it  would  be  safe  and  blest  still  to  be 
within  reach  of  the  prayers  and  praises  I  have  loved ;  it 
Boothes  me  to  think  that  I  may  thus  be  connected  in 
memory  with  the  constant  worship  of  the  Ch^jrch ; — and 


THE   EXPERIENCE    OP   LIFE.  379 

most  dear  is  the  hope  that  those  over  whom  I  have  watched 
from  infancy,  the  children  of  my  darling  Hester,  and  it 
may  be  their  children  after  them,  may  recall,  as  they  pass 
my  grave,  the  lessons  I  have  laboured  to  teach  them,  and 
speak  of  me  with  the  love,  though  it  can  never  be  with 
tho  reverence,  which  must  ever  place  amongst  the  dearest 
of  xnv  earthly  memories,  the  name  of — aunt  Sarah, 


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